


Remus of Gryffindor Tower

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hermione is the same age as Marauders, Hogwarts meets Anne of Green Gables, Moony is a brooding teenage wolf, No Voldy AU, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s the beginning of his sixth year and Remus wants things to be different. Better. He wants this to be a better year in studies and grades. He wants to be challenged. He wants his pack to be the ones to challenge him. He doesn’t understand why all isn’t as he hopes and wants.And he especially doesn’t understand why Moony can’t get a grip with the new transfer student, Hermione Granger. Or why she can’t accept his apology for the disaster of first impressions.For QuinTalon 💙❤️
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Comments: 173
Kudos: 189
Collections: Best of Remione





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuinTalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinTalon/gifts).



> For QuinTalon.  
> I’m so thankful for this year because it means I’ve had the opportunity to get to know you more. And you’re such a gem, joy, and delight. I’m so thankful you've introduces me to “Let’s Play” and you let me flail with you! I’m thankful you share all your beautiful creations with me and the fandom. You’re so gifted and share joy and beauty with all!  
> I hope you enjoy!!! ❤️
> 
> Endless alpha love and thanks to Frumpologist and beta hearts and gratitude to blueeyedsue💙💙thank you, ladies!! All remaining errors are my own.

* * *

“ _ Earl Grey, citrus, vanilla, lavender, mint, thyme, cheap ink, hazelnuts, stale parchment, elder blossoms, marmalade, pine, sage, grass, lake water, trout, squid—NO CHOCOLATE?! _ ” 

“What did you expect,” Remus snaps under his breath. He’s not sure if it’s low enough to keep anyone around him from hearing, but he’s not sure he cares anymore. 

Only he does. 

But he doesn’t. 

He does though. 

He’s already considered odd and peculiar by other sixth years outside of Gryffindor—and even by some  _ within Gryffindor— _ and this isn’t how he wants to start off the new school year. Severus has suspicions, and Remus  _ really _ doesn’t want to do anything before the first month of the school year to confirm anything. 

Normal. He just wants normal. And the capacity to concentrate on whatever the bloody hell subject this is right now… 

He blinks down at the numbers he’s copied from the board to his parchment. They seem to blink back at him. Mocking him. 

“ _ Numbers blurring together. Hungry. Didn’t eat enough. And too quiet. And hungry—” _

Okay. So, not that trying to focus matters, then. Moony, his wolf, seems thoroughly determined in his mission to make Remus as miserable as possible. Especially now that the focus is on food. 

“ _ Want chocolate. Need chocolate. Need bacon, too. And toast. More toast and jam. And scones with lemon curd. And cream—lots of cream. More porridge. _ ” 

“It was just breakfast,” Remus tries to reason. “There’s no possible way you’re already—“ 

A loud rumble erupts from his gut, one that’s so loud it’s unmistakable and draws the attention of several eyes around him. Quills cease scratching on the desks to his left and right, and Remus’ face burns. His grip on his quill tightens and his visions blurs as he tries to focus on the weekly Arithmancy quiz. Gazes sear into him, but he tries to ignore them. 

Especially those of his professor. 

He doesn’t want sympathy for a “ _ growing werewolf. _ ” That’s how Madam Pomfrey so kindly put it when he visited her the second day of the month at lunch, just to check there’d been no change to his usual hospital bed to sleep things off the next day. She’d tutted and fussed at him with those round, caring eyes, warning him he’s sixteen, almost seventeen, this year, and “ _ things may be a little different for you, Remus.”  _

He doesn’t want “different.” 

Or maybe he does. 

Time’s up for the quiz and he’s only completed half of it when he’s forced to pass it up to the professor. His cheeks flame and he hates that. The weekly quizzes don’t count against them, it’s purely extra credit for their practice as the professor put it on the first day of class. Still, though. This is the third week of the school year and the third quiz Remus has handed in that’s incomplete, and shame seeps into him. Hardening in his blood as he tries again to tell Moony to naff off so he can hear what the professor is about to teach. 

Maybe Remus has plans for “different” already this year, but they’re not the same “different” as what seems to be happening.

* * *

It’s impossibly worse in Potions later that day. Not that he presumed any less. 

It’s two days before the full moon, and the last class before lunch.

And it’s  _ Potions _ . The bane of his existence. 

Moony scents everything—absolutely  _ everything _ . Remus can close his eyes and count the number of vials of each ingredient that are placed on each station. He can name the specific berry and root to be pressed or finely diced, and possibly even take a guess the quantity of each for each student pairing. 

And it’s...words fail him today. 

But it’s miserable. 

_ He’s  _ miserable. 

Moony will  _ not _ hang it all or shut it. He’s a git, and a very loud and dramatic git to top things off. He huffs, puffs, paces, and curses each and every last ingredient. He loathes the tedious acts of chopping, slicing, dicing, and measuring. He mocks Professor Slughorn’s supercilious complimenting of Lily and a select few other students, between which he drones and chortles out useless instructions and facts. 

It’s not usually a complete wash of a class, but that’s all because of Lily Evans. She’s figured out Remus’ “furry little problem” (thus named courtesy of James, Sirius, and Peter—he doesn’t recall who the original instigator was now) back in third year. She tells Remus she had suspicions their second year, and Remus believes her, but thinks it’s cute how honest she is in admitting it took her until halfway through third year to work it all out. James or Sirius would have immediately taken credit for as early as they could. 

But coming back to it, Lily is assigned to work with Frank Longbottom today, and it’s to her credit she opens her mouth to protest the assignment for Remus’ sake. Professor Slughorn usually remembers when coming around to the moon, and that Remus will need a little extra support those days, but it’s only September, after all. Remus supposes things like having a werewolf for a student are easy enough to forget over a long summer. 

Remus is in no mood for sympathy, so while he’s grateful, it’s possible that doesn’t come across in the hardening of his jaw and the sharp jerking movement of his neck as he silences Lily before she can speak. He can see a flash of hurt and confusion in her eyes as she blinks back at him in silent question. The only answer he offers is by way of flattening his lips into a thin line and dragging his finger along the spine of one of his own textbooks as he drops her gaze. She says nothing as she moves to her assigned station and Remus keeps from rolling his eyes as James protests that  _ he  _ hoped to work with Lily today. 

“ _ Overdramatic wanker,” _ Moony snorts, and it’s all Remus can do to swallow a retort back. 

James and Remus are assigned to work together today, and it’s… not terrible. 

It could be worse. 

It’s not that James is bad at potions. 

James Potter isn’t bad at  _ anything.  _ Neither is Sirius. Nor Peter for that matter. But Peter has little drive for more than whatever James and Sirius care about, and neither James nor Sirius care much for potions, so their notes tend to be scattered, haphazard, and hasty at best. 

Remus wonders if not for the werewolf thing whether he would actually enjoy potions or not. 

He’ll never have the chance to know. It’s a waste of time to be stuck in the land of “what-if”.

What if’s don’t help Moony. They make him worse, actually. It makes him combative as he argues how Remus doesn’t remember from  _ before _ . Remus can’t argue, so he says nothing back. Moony is offended that Remus isn’t jumping to agree, much less wax on about all the brilliant things Moony contributes…

In other words, Potions is doomed today before it begins. It’s only worse as the minutes drag by. It’s impossible to focus, and his vision blurs, knuckles going white-hot as Remus clamps down on the desk to keep from…

_ From _ …

He doesn’t know what. Not exactly. But he wants to grab something and rip it to shreds. He wants to knock over every last cauldron in the room. He wants to grab some witch and press his lips to hers, if only to  _ know _ the feel of warmth and softness once in his life. 

He wants none of those things and wishes he could be anywhere but  _ here _ . He’s tired of fighting Moony’s urges so. He wants—

“You’re all right, mate.” James nudges his shoulder against Remus, and it’s enough. It’s a lifeline in a howler of a storm, but it’s enough. It grounds Remus, and he’s able to get a hold of himself enough to blink a few times. His vision clears and he’s able to focus on his friend’s hazel eyes. James nudges him once more. “You’re all right.” 

“Yeah.” Remus gives a thick swallow and a quick bob of his head. “Yeah I am.” 

They say little else as they work on their assignment, which turns out to be adequate enough in the end, no thanks to Remus. He couldn’t chop the beet root fine enough to procure that “shine” in the purple Professor Slughorn says it needs. It’s not entirely his fault, the overwhelming smell of _dirt_ as he chops while James handles the vials sends Moony into a fit that makes Remus’ head pound, and the work is sloppy afterwards.

It’s a challenge enough to read off the instructions from their textbook today, so taking notes is out of the question. Remus hates it. He’ll have to copy the end of the class results and notes from James, but he already knows that’s too much to ask of his friend. 

Still, he tries as the students filter through the classroom door for the Great Hall. “Write anything down while Slughorn was going through the class's potions?” 

James is almost offended by the question as he adjusts the shoulder strap of his bag. “What in Merlin’s name for?” 

Sirius charges up, throwing an arm around Remus; which is...bad. It’s so bad right now, and the only thing that could be added to make this miserable day  _ worse _ . 

No. Remus is  _ not _ being dramatic. 

Moony is coughing and snapping his jaw, threatening to murder Padfoot in two days. Remus balls his hands into fists and presses them against his thighs to keep from doing something he’ll regret. On a normal day, Remus would actually enjoy such brotherly and familial displays of affection—they remind him he belongs. That he’s part of a pack. 

But today, so close to the moon, it’s torture. 

Again, not exaggerating. 

Because Sirius is currently of the opinion a witch is impressed by copious amounts of hair product and cologne. Sirius winks at Remus and adds, “It’s not as if Old Sluggy will remember anything he says while observing all our potions for the exam next week. He goes by the book and that’s all we need. You know that.” 

Remus does. 

It doesn’t change how he feels, though. What he wants for this year. What he wants for himself. 

“ _ Tell pack, then,”  _ Moony snaps. His snout still crinkles in irritation at the nearness of Sirius, and he starts to snort and sneeze. 

Remus shrugs out of his friend’s hold. “I just like to make notes as he’s seeing all the results, too,” he tries explaining. These are his friends after all. His pack. Surely they can listen to why this is important to him. “You know, so I can know how to spot these things for myself.” 

“But we already know you can do that because it’s not that hard, Moony.” Sirius ruffles Remus' hair before taking off for the Great Hall, Peter and James catching him in long strides. 

They’re laughing loud and nattering about… something. Remus doesn’t know what. He wants to be in on the joke, too. He wants to get those notes. 

His stomach growls, and he’s reminded he’s starving. He could eat five sandwiches, maybe ten once they’re seated. So he knows he can’t eat in front of his housemates feeling like this. So ravenous and ready to devour everything in sight. He loses his appetite with such a mental image. 

In five long strides he catches up to his pack, but doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop as they protest, but tosses a clipped explanation of finding Lily for notes. 

They ask him about lunch. He tells them not to worry. 

Lily already has her parchment ready for him. She asks if he’d like to sit with her at lunch, but Remus ignores the question, promising to have her notes back to her before the next class. 

He makes for the kitchens, to work on copying. In the kitchens, the elves won’t give him a second look as he stuffs his face. They also won’t allow him more food than he can stomach, so he’s safe from being sick before next class. 

He’s safe from inquisitive eyes down there, too. 

Safe is good. 

Alone is good, too. 

If only it weren’t so  _ lonely _ .

* * *

The remainder of the day is rubbish, and the night turns out to be no better. 

He finishes his assignments in the Gryffindor common room without too much difficulty, but he wants to get ahead on a couple of essays and already begin studying for next week’s Potions exam. And he’d like to review Arithmancy, too. 

The lads insist there must already be a lucky someone  _ special _ in the library, and tease and cajole loudly. Remus’ face burns red even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. It really is as simple as he’s told them. But they’re not listening. They’ve already concocted a story and have begun to roll with it. Frank’s even in on it, too. Another housemate in their year, Alice, lingers off to the side, adjusting the shoulder strap to her bag and fidgeting like she wants to say something. 

She doesn’t. 

It’s ironically enough Sirius who breaks up the merriment at Remus’ expense by noting that one  _ Lily Evans _ is already at the library and maybe Prefect rounds aren’t enough alone time this year. 

“ _ Never! Too floral!”  _

No one hears Moony’s immediate protest, though. Only Remus. 

They all fall silent after that, though. There’s no more taking the mickey and having a laugh now. The way James’ eyes snap to meet Remus’ says everything. Prongs—friend, brother, pack member—still doesn’t trust Remus. Doesn’t completely believe Remus when he’s sworn up and down multiple times, last year and this month already, that he is not interested in Lily and is not trying to make any moves on the witch. The witch James has been in love with since the Hogwarts Express their first year. 

The flash of concern turns to pain and it’s then Remus realises he’s been silent too long. That he’s drawn the attention of not only his pack and Frank, but every Gryffindor in the common room. He can  _ feel _ their stares. Their questions. It makes his skin crawl, and he wants to claw himself out of his own flesh and bones somehow. He wants to dig a giant hole and vanish forever. 

He  _ needs _ to be alone.

He  _ wants _ someone on his side.

Suddenly, his eyes begin to burn with what he’s mortified to believe are tears, and he can’t just stand there any longer. He spins on his heel and begins marching to the common room door, clearing his throat and blinking furiously. “Don’t wait up for me,” he says, hating the crack in his voice. He should be more determined. More commanding. 

So James would  _ know _ that there’s nothing to worry about. Not from him. Sure, Lily’s his friend, and yes, there was a period of time in third and fourth year when Remus fancied himself fancying her… but that was ages ago now. And part of his friendship with Lily was discussing all things James, and waiting for the daft witch to finally see she fancies James back. 

_ “The fools, _ ” Moony hisses. “ _ Snog already. No questions then. Prongs would know and Lily would know.”  _

“Guess it isn’t that simple for them, old boy,” Remus whispers. It’s almost nice knowing he’s not completely alone as he makes for the library. 

There’s a pounding of footfalls on the large greystone floor behind him, and his heart leaps in hope as the echo seeps into his very soul 

( _ “Pack! Pack doesn’t want us hurt! Pack knows! Pack trusts us!”) _

But it isn’t his pack, or even James. 

Alice. 

Remus’ face falls immediately, but he covers it with a tight smile because she’s calling his name and seems to want to catch up with him. He waits for her and she offers a breathless word of gratitude as they start up again for the library. 

“You’re pretty fast,” she notes, and Remus wants to groan. 

He doesn’t. He gives a noncommittal shrug instead. “Long legs. And I’d like to get to bed at a decent hour.” 

“Me too.” 

They fall silent and it’s comfortable… mostly. Remus has nothing for or against Alice. He thinks she’s very pretty, actually, and Moony notes how she somehow always smells like hot chocolate, but… something is missing. There’s never been a need between them to take anything beyond the casual friends they are. 

“You can study with us, you know.” Alice is chewing on her lip as she gives Remus a side look. “I don’t know where you were planning on sitting, but there’s always an open space at our table if you’d like to join me and Lily.” 

“Thanks,” Remus answers. He means it. It’s nice to be wanted and included. And have people available to ask questions when he’s isn’t sure of something. He knows how well that would go over, though. “I think I need a little bit of alone time this evening, though.” 

“Sure. No problem. The offer stands until the library closes.” 

“I appreciate it.” And he does. 

Moony does, too. He begins pacing around Remus’ head, wondering if any other witches will be at the table with them, and already wondering what they would scent like, and Remus all but yells in his mind for his wolf to get a ruddy grip. These are people, not toys. 

And he wants to study. To feel ahead of things this year. To take these small steps to prepare for N.E.W.T.S. Not for any witch, Mum, Dad, his professors, or his Pack. 

This is something for himself. 

And a misunderstanding with James isn’t going to change that.

* * *

James shows up. Not in person mind you. 

The jealous berk is hiding under his Invisibility Cloak, but he forgets that Remus isn’t just Remus. Remus is also Moony, and Moony is more attuned with his senses just before the full moon. The werewolf catches wind of his friend while Remus is nose deep in an advanced potions tome. 

“ _ Prongs _ .” 

“Let him come,” Remus mumbles back. “As he can see, I’ve nothing to hide from anyone.” 

And he doesn’t. His table is well enough away from Lily and Alice’s. He’s even positioned his books and bag so that he’s partially hidden away, and anyone would have to come up close to see him fully. Several moments pass and James doesn’t come up to Remus’ table, even though his scent is stronger than before. It's then that Remus realises what’s happening. He thinks this is stupid. And beneath them, because they’re  _ sixth _ years now after all. 

But there’s a pain humming and throbbing in his chest as he tries to brush this off and focus on his notes. It was one thing when James was staring at him, hazel eyes unsure and questioning. It’s another now knowing the extent of James’ mistrust. 

The pain swells and grows, spreading throughout Remus’ body, seizing his lungs, and lodging itself in Remus’ throat. He wants to call out in anger. He wants to disappear in shame. 

_ Again. _

He seems to border between angry and ashamed more than anything else this year, and he hates it. 

His grip on his quill tightens and he’s angry writing for the next thirty seconds. Or ten minutes. Or an hour. 

Time ceases as he’s furiously writing away. He ignores if he can scent James or not anymore and it’s a great shock to his system when Madam Pince interrupts him to have him either clear his desk away or check the books out before closing. 

He puts them away and is happy to discover Lily and Alice’s table is already empty as he walks by. He can’t smell James, and some part of him softens. Maybe it’s not so much about trusting Remus as it is his own insecurities. Maybe the wanker saw the error of his decision and went back to the common room a while ago. Maybe—

“Hullo,” James says. Remus is so caught up in his own head (again!) that he didn’t smell James outside the library door. Waiting for him. The cloak folded and stuffed under his arm. 

The cloak makes his blood boil all over again. Remus wants to snipe. He wants to yell and say the dozen hurtful things that dance on his tongue, begging to be called upon. He does none of those things, though. 

Because of course he doesn’t. It’s Pack and James, and the sod is looking miserable and sheepish enough. 

So Remus resolves to snort and jerk his head, motioning he wants James to walk with him. “You know I could smell you, yeah?” 

“Figured.” James swallows thickly. “You didn’t say anything, though.” 

Remus levels his friend with a look. “Neither did you.” 

  
“I know.” 

Silence settles between them as they continue walking together back to Gryffindor Tower. Remus is tired and it’s the moon and his bones already begin to creak and ache in anticipation of breaking. He doesn’t trust himself enough right now to not say something he’ll regret. 

James speaks up as they come to the painting entrance, though. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t offer more, but it’s enough. 

It’s enough for now. 

“I know,” Remus answers. “It’s all right, mate. We’re all right.” 

And they are. That sting in his chest from before isn’t throbbing anymore, and he’s able to tell himself he’s being too sensitive before transformation. 

Moony huffs, though, and flashes his teeth, and Remus wonders how much of his wolf is still not so certain they’re okay.

* * *

It's the day before the full moon now. A single day before he’s able to sleep and sleep and  _ sleep _ until nightfall…  


And if yesterday was rubbish, today is nothing short of pure agony from the moment he wakes up. 

It’s Sirius who braves close enough to whack Remus over the head with a pillow to wake him, and Remus bolts upright, reaching out for a piece of clothing to snatch. To yank and squeeze and pull closer so he can bear his teeth…

But Sirius is bare chested and smirking.  _ Smirking _ . The insufferable, sodding berk. 

“‘Fraid you’ll have to be quicker than that if you’re wanting me to join you in bed, mate.” 

“Naff off,” Remus mutters, throwing his friend a ‘V’ as he throws back his covers and fumbles for his clothes. 

He insists they don’t wait on him for breakfast, and they all barrel out the door once fully dressed. Whatever may or may not be lingering from last night, James, Sirius, and Peter are all understanding of his need for quiet today. 

That’s something at least. 

Remus avoids the Great Hall and eats in the kitchens. Everything on his plate smells repulsive, but at least it’s quiet in here. And besides, all is well once he pops it in his mouth, and he doesn’t want to stop eating. He wolfs down ( _ pun intended, Moony _ ) ten pieces of bacon, four bangers, and two portions of beans. He lathers three pieces of toast with marmalade and downs an entire pot of tea before he feels even close to full. The elves insist he take some buns with him and he snags up three before heading to Arithmancy. 

Everything stops when Remus enters the room, though. 

_ Everything _ . 

Moony smells her a fraction of a second before Remus sees her. 

“ _Soap. Clean. Fresh. Parchment and ink. Blankets and books. Cinnamon, oranges, and beautiful._ ** _So_** _beautiful_.” 

Moony’s not wrong. On any of it. 

Remus has never seen her before, and he’s actually certain that she’s a figment of his imagination at first, until the professor clears her throat. 

“If you’ll all take your seats, we’ve a busy period today. And as you can all see, there’s a transfer student who will be joining us for the remainder of the year. Would you like to introduce yourself, dear?” 

The pretty witch with wild, coily curls and smooth, dark skin looks as if she’d rather not. In fact, Remus thinks she looks slightly green and there’s the way that she’s twiddling her fingers, and the way Moony scents fear in the room… 

“ _ Hold her hands. Make her feel welcome and not alone.”  _

Remus bids his wolf to kindly shut it, because the witch’s lips part now. 

“I’m Hermione Granger. I’ve transferred from Beauxbatons, but I’m from London, so Hogwarts is closer to home.” 

She— _ Hermione! _ —seems as though she has more to say, but she snaps her mouth shut. She turns and slides herself into the nearest available seat with such grace and ease, Remus catches himself wondering if she dances. Or takes ballet. 

“ _ Soooooo. Close.”  _ Moony’s purring and drooling, and Remus isn’t fighting his wolf. 

Because Hermione is close. She’s exactly diagonal to the right of him, and when he inhales, it’s like he’s breathing all of her in. Her hands are busy as the professor begins today’s lesson. Remus isn’t taking notes, though. He hasn’t pulled anything from his bag. He doesn’t look away from Hermione’s hands. 

_ Can’t _ look away.

At first glance they’re neat and tidy. Her nails are trimmed short, but then he notices how long and delicate her fingers are. How she’s fluid in all her movements. But as he studies them more, he notices ink stains on her fingers. Midnight black ink stains against the rich dark brown of her fingertips. Some appear faded, as if from last night or the night before, while some are obviously from writing things this morning. Her fingers drum over her desk and parchment and there’s something beautiful in the way she holds her quill. Like a painting. 

And she even writes like it’s a wild dance she’s keeping up with.

It’s a dance he needs to keep up with.

Coupled with a scent that is… exquisite. 

Intoxicating. 

Needing to be further studied—

He will never know what exactly happens next, but here is what Remus John Lupin knows: Hermione’s suddenly looking at him. 

Looking. Right at. Him. 

Brown eyes wide. Questioning. Nervous. Scared. 

“I beg your pardon,” she says. 

And Remus hears himself asking, “What?” because he’s confused—

There’s a crash and a throbbing in his bum.

The classroom erupts in laughter and Remus’ face burns in a blush. 

He’s on the floor and he doesn’t know how  _ that _ happened. He thinks his classmates are laughing at him, but that’s not the worst of it. 

The worst is that Hermione’s lips press together in a thin line and something flashes in her eyes before she whirls around. 

And doesn’t give him even a hint of a glance the remainder of class. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!!!! And thank you all so so much for your lovely words and reviews and kudos. And for just taking the time to click on this and read 💙💙💙Thank you so much! 
> 
> Love to you, QuinTalon!! I especially hope you enjoy what’s to come! 
> 
> And thank you to Frumpologist for your treasured and keen alpha eyes and encouragement and BlueeyedSue for all your amaizng and wonderful beta help!!!! I’m grateful for you both!

* * *

Arithmancy is a confusing blur that Remus will never be able to recall. 

The professor asks him if he’s all right at the end of class, and he answers he’s fine. There’s a sympathetic _look_ and she tells him she’ll see him on Monday. 

Monday. 

Because the full moon is on a Friday this year. 

Perfect. 

He’s only partially sarcastic as he thinks that. 

Alice is waiting to walk with him to their next class. He asks her what happened earlier when he fell down. He can’t bring himself to say Hermione’s name aloud. She was the first student out of class, and he’s mortified because he knows that’s because of him. 

He _knows._

“What do you mean, ‘ _What happened?’_ ” She’s making a face at him that lets him know it should be obvious. “You were half standing over your own desk to ogle the new girl and it tipped you over.” 

“OGLE?!” Remus all but chokes on his own tongue. “I was _not_ ogling.” 

“From where I sat on the other side of the room, it was definitely more than a simple curiosity, and all I have to say on the matter is: good for you.” 

Unexpected. Surprising to the point that Remus halts in his tracks, stock still. Blinking at Alice. Jaw open. 

Alice rolls her eyes and nudges him with her shoulder. “There’s no need to appear so scandalised; I’m not promoting you start to follow witches into the bathroom for a peek of something. What I’m saying is I thought you’d never be over Lily. And the fact this one’s caught your eye first class on her first day—that means something. To you, at least, Remus. You’re not like Sirius, or any number of boys here.” 

“ _Too right!_ ” Moony’s tail wagged proudly and it’s not that Remus has an argument against _that_ , per se. 

_It’s only that…_

“I’m not pining after Lily,” he grounds out, shoving his hands in his pockets. He remembers James with his Invisibility Cloak last night. He remembers the look in his eyes when Sirius had teased about Remus studying with Lily. The hurt and doubts in their bonds of friendship. 

“You don’t make a secret of enjoying her company,” Alice counters, matching him stride for stride, her robes billowing out as they hike to their next class two levels down. “I’m not saying this to make you upset, Remus, but you’ve made no secret of being uncomfortable being around girls most of the five years we’ve been here—”

Remus’ blood runs cold. She’s found him out. Sorted the pieces of the puzzle of Remus at last. “What—”

“Again, I’m not saying, insinuating, or presuming anything, Remus.” Alice lays a hand on his elbow and meets his eye as they continue moving, their pace slowing. “I don’t care about any whispers and I snuff them out, reminding people it’s none of our business if I hear talk. But, you and I—we’re friends. At least, I hope you’d consider me your friend after being housemates for five years.” 

“I do.” He does. Moony is in agreement, too. She’s always had a trustworthy feel about her and she’s always been a good friend to Lily. But he can’t move beyond whatever she’s just been saying right now, and everything in his stance hardens as they come to a winding staircase. “There’s talk about me?” 

“There’s talk of everyone at Hogwarts.” Alice answers so nonchalantly as third years sprint up the stairs around them. “This school is little more than a rumor mill, and you know that.” 

“ _Stupid, slimy, nosy, rotten lot. All of them!”_ Moony gives several angry barks and Remus doesn’t disagree with the sentiment. 

His hands ball into fists in his pockets, and he grinds out, “What do they say? About me?” 

“Stupid talk that’s not worth another moment of your time.” Alice’s tone is calm. Reassuring. They come to their floor and she places her hand on his elbow. _Again._ He can count the number of times Alice has touched him on a single hand before now. The number of times anyone outside of Madam Pomfrey or one of his pack has touched him up till now. 

Her hand falls away quickly, but the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s so the opposite of unnoticed that Remus swallows hard, his chest tightening. 

“It really is nothing,” she says again. “Questions about the faded scars on your face, if you’re attracted to anyone ever. Ridiculous things, and the only reason it lingers and comes up every so often is that you’re so… _private._ Outside of James, Sirius, and Peter, you don’t have much to say to people. I mean, you’ll talk about coursework, or have the casual conversation here and there. And you’re a good listener when someone needs a talk to sort something out. Otherwise, you don’t seem to confide or interact all that much with others apart from those three and Lily. Then there’s the fact you or some relative gets sick or needs loads of help throughout the school year.” 

Everything actually stills this time, and he _needs_ to _not_ let her delve into speculation about his monthly disappearances from school. “There’s you and Frank,” he offers with a shrug. 

“Yes, well… This has gotten off topic and I’m afraid I embarrassed myself just as much as you. What I mean in all of this is...” She pauses, her shoulders tensing and then drooping as she loosens a long, slow breath. “This is a small, private school. We’re a relatively small community where about a third or more of the population come from Pureblood families. Which means we’ve had drilled into us the notion of marriage and children immediately following Hogwarts since we could walk. Most Half-bloods can tell you their parents married young from Hogwarts, too, and have an idea to expect that of themselves. For better or worse, you’ve shown yourself different in not even giving off signs of interest to _anyone_ —save for Lily.” 

“Years ago now.” He means it. That was a while ago. And there’s very much a James factor in all of it, too. Pack comes first. “And she’s taken.” 

“Not that she’s aware of it.” Alice scoffs and adjusts her bag over her shoulder. “Lily needs to get her own head out of her arse and see that for James Potter, despite all her public displays of outrage at his resilient pursuit.” 

That gets a chuckle out of Remus. “He’s toned it down this year so far. No serenading first thing in the morning or bouquets of flowers yet.” 

“Merlin, James… He could be insane for all he’s done since we were first years, but all I know is I credit his behaviour to _you_ somehow. I don’t know if you had a talk with him over the summer, or what, but on behalf of all of Hogwarts, thank you.” 

He’s about to respond, something polite, acknowledging, and automatic, because he _did_ , actually. It was well beyond time to have a talk with James about his pursuit of Lily and extreme tactics, but Remus finds he can’t speak at all. 

Because they’ve arrived at their next class and the only two seats available in this tight-fitting History of Magic classroom are on either side of Hermione Granger.

* * *

“Hello,” Remus says, his mouth full of sand and hand proffered like some buffoon. “I’m Remus Lupin.” 

“Hermione Granger.” She accepts his handshake, and just before he can admire how warm and soft-to-touch her hand is, she’s already pulled back and is introducing herself to Alice. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Alice says, smiling broadly. “I see you’ve been given a Gryffindor tie.” 

One of those perfect, perfect hands jumps to Hermione’s throat, clutching the red and gold striped tie. “What— _oh_. Yes, that talking hat said something about bravery to me before yelling out ‘Gryffindor’ and the headmaster gave me this tie. He said there would be others hanging with my uniforms by the end of the day.” 

Alice nods. “Yeah, the elves will have you stocked for the year—Merlin! This is perfect! Lily! Lily!!” 

Remus takes the moment to slip into his seat, folding himself slightly, because even though he’s not as tall as Sirius, the desks in this room started to feel too small at the end of last term. It’s one of the reasons Sirius and James vowed not to take History of Magic anymore once they collected their O.W.L. for it. 

Peter and Lily are here, though. Somewhere up front talking with some Hufflepuffs, but Lily’s turned in her seat to wave at Alice, but gets up when she sees an unfamiliar face and Alice waving frantically. Lily gets up and weaves around the desks to make her way back, her red hair swishing around her face as she moves. 

“Lily, Hermione. Hermione, Lily,” Alice introduces, and Remus can’t help but snort. It’s all so informal and _Alice_ , and since when has he known Alice this well? Since when are they this familiar and friendly? Considering she’s clearing her throat and now glaring at him, he supposes the answer is irrelevant—or one he’ll sort out for himself. Later. Because Alice continues with, “You’re only jealous you’re stuck with three stinky _boys_ for roommates, Remus, and not with four witches. Lily, Hermione’s come from Beauxbatons and has been sorted into Gryffindor, so I think she’ll be taking the extra bed in our room.” 

“Splendid!” Lily smiles and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m apologising now, I sing in the shower, and I’m _really_ awful according to Alice and our other roommate, Marlene.” 

“What d’you sing?” Hermione asks as several boys around them stop and drop whatever they’ve been doing before to turn and listen, too. 

“The Beatles.” 

Alice snorts, face twisting in a crooked smile. “Don’t let her fool you. She knows one song, and she croons on and on about wanting to hold somebody's haaaaaaaannddddd.” Alice dissolves into giggles at her own exaggeration, while Lily cuts her eyes at her friend. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to either,” she huffs, looking back to Hermione. “We’re a lot of fun, and pretty—”

The ghostly form of Professor Binns interrupts Lily and asks the class to take their seats. Remus tries to swallow his disappointment. Just before the beginning of class isn’t the proper time to apologise anyways.

“ _Later,”_ Moony yips.“ _When alone with her and able to take our time looking at her. Telling her how beautiful she is. How good she smells. How warm and soft she must be_ —”

“They’re all pretty,” a male voice mumbles on the other side of Remus, cutting off Moony’s serenade. “ _Very_ pretty. ‘Specially the one what got you to fall all over yourself drooling like a nutter, Lupin.” 

Remus snaps his head left, sizing up his classmate now. Jones. Ravenclaw. Not in the previous class with them, so Remus isn’t sure how he already knows, much less how the story’s already grown to a public spectacle. 

“ _End him,”_ Moony barks. 

Remus would love nothing better, but Binns is talking now. Remus unpacks his parchment and quill, hoping to Merlin that for once this year, Moony will let him focus on the class.

* * *

Moony doesn’t. 

He’s distracted by Hermione all of History of Magic, and Remus’ notes are haphazard and illegible at best. Which isn’t all right, because Lily isn’t here for him to copy off of. Given their conversation earlier, Alice may let him have a look at hers, but he’s never thought to ask her before.

“ _Hermione!”_ Moony’s pacing and snapping at Remus to hurry, _hurry_ after class, because Hermione is packed and leaving in record time. Alice says some sort of goodbye before leaving, too, calling out Hermione’s name as she does. 

Well then. There goes that. 

It’s the end of the day before Remus can finally get to Hermione alone. There were a few classes they didn’t share, and Potions is another nightmare of overwhelming smells and his head is pounding, and he just wants to sleep by this point, and not bother with finishing his dinner. He sees Hermione getting up and leaving the Great Hall, and what luck that she’s: one, alone, and _two_ , leaving the Great Hall. 

He won’t have to force himself to eat. The perfect excuse for Sirius when he asks after Remus’ health later. 

He snatches up his book bag, throwing it over his shoulder, and runs to catch her. Dashes by tables and students… full of hope as he catches up to her…

“Hermione!” He waits to say her name until he’s through the double doors. “Wait! Please wait.” 

She stops, but doesn’t turn around. 

“ _Not good,”_ Moony thinks. “ _Unhappy with us. Maybe mad.”_

“Not for long, old boy,” Remus clips under his breath. He steps around her so she can face forward again, giving enough space between them so he’s not overwhelmed by her heavenly scent as he talks. 

Well, no more overwhelmed than he _could_ be. 

“I’m sorry for this morning. Really I am. I don’t know what’s already been said about it, but I just fell over, and didn’t mean to embarrass you, or cause any offense. Honest.” Hermione’s stiff and reserved, which only compels him to say _more_. To offer more in way of explanation. To add that he hopes he didn’t embarrass her after all. That since they’re in Gryffindor together, he hopes they can be friends. 

“Sure,” she answers. “Think no more of it.” She doesn’t smile as she walks around him towards the staircase. She doesn’t look back either. 

* * *

“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you, mate?” 

“No.” _Yes._

Sirius smirks. “Cor, that was some rapid action denial. You’re thinking about her loads and _loads_ then.” 

“I. Am. Not.” 

“ _Lies,”_ Moony hisses. 

Remus is going to fling himself into the Black Lake. He’ll steal a broomstick and never return. Settle into the village near the Dragon Reserve in Romania and start a new life there. He doesn’t recall the Romanian Ministry’s stance on werewolves, but he presumes it can’t be entirely as restrictive as Britain’s if they have a Dragon Reserve. 

James interrupts his self-preservative train of thought with his own knuts of wisdom: “She’s all right when you talk to her. I actually think if you hadn’t made such a rubbish first impression, you two would have a lot in common.” He shrugs and rises from the stuffy old sofa in the common room, making? for their dorm room. “About time for Quidditch practice, Padfoot. Get your arse up; I’m not covering for you being late again.” 

“Twat,” Sirius grumbles, but he’s already lifting himself from the sofa, too. 

“That’s future captain twat to you.” James’ sing-song voice echoes down the stairs, and Peter and Remus share a mutual chortle and look before getting back to their individual readings—or thoughts of one Hermione Granger in Remus’ case. 

There’s no getting around it: she’s at least ninety percent of all he thinks of, and it’s maddening. Maddening because it’s now the beginning of November and she won’t hardly give him the time of day still. She’s cordial in acknowledging him with nods and “hello’s”, but they’re stiff and clipped. It’s infuriating that James and Sirius don’t believe that falling out of his seat was an accident, and _no_ , he wasn’t trying to steal a kiss or quick a deeper sniff. 

It’s torture that Moony won’t let it go, either. 

That he has to know her by scent the moment she enters or leaves a room. That he observes her studying with Lily and Alice every time Remus goes to the library. That his ears perk, twitch, then fall over contentedly every time she answers a question in class. That he yaps and barks about her almost constantly, noticing every smile she flashes to literally anyone and everyone but Remus. 

It’s beyond insufferable that Remus can’t let this go either. 

He’s _apologised,_ and why isn’t that enough?! Ask anyone at Hogwarts and if Remus has been caught in a prank, he apologises for it. He’s sent apology chocolate frogs to Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws after particularly embarrassing losses against Gryffindor in Quidditch (never Slytherin, though). He gives Regulus Christmas and birthday presents every year, despite the estranged relationship between the two Black brothers. He even gave Narcissa Black a yellow rose their second year after finding out she’d been caught in a messy prank on her birthday—Slytherin or not, he’d heard she’d spent all afternoon crying in the girl’s bathroom about it, and things like that don’t sit well with Remus. No one should cry on their birthday. 

So, it’s easy enough to say that it’s little more than two months into term, Remus has a whole other two full moon cycles to go, and he’s more miserable than he can remember being at Hogwarts. He can chuck all his hopes and dreams for a better school year with better grades right out the window of Gryffindor Tower now. He’s not behind in any subject. _Yet._ It feels as though he’s prolonging the inevitable. That between Moony, Hermione, and his friends, it’s already a struggle enough to keep up and feel as though he’s maintaining. 

“Coming to watch us practice?” James asks. He and Sirius have trounced? back down to the common room, fully changed into their Quidditch gear, their broomsticks slung over their shoulders. Other teammates enter the common room, too, talking amongst themselves near the exit. 

“Sure.” Peter closes his book and tucks it under his arm as he stands up. “Remus?” 

“No thanks.” His gaze darts between his three closest friends before dropping back to his book. “There’s that supplementary reading from DADA I want to finish up before Monday.” 

“Swot,” Sirius groans and teases, turning on his heel. Peter is quick to follow, asking about something Remus doesn’t quite catch (which is another lie, because he _does_ hear it, he simply doesn’t care). 

It’s James that lingers, and James’ stare that Remus can feel. 

It’s James’ hazel eyes that are intense under furrowed brows when Remus looks up. 

“Something on your mind, Prongs?” 

“You don’t come to practice much anymore,” his friend answers, and Remus can fill in the blanks for what James doesn’t say. _Like you used to_. _Like last year._

Well, last year, Remus learned that he can’t truly study and focus as hard as he’d like while plays are being shouted, team captains are yelling, and his friends are taking the mickey out of each other. It’s not that it’s impossible and he _can’t at all_. It’s simply that he knows he can absorb better when alone. Or it’s quiet. 

And he prefers both today. Here and now. 

James hasn’t looked away.

Remus’ throat bobs. “Never too early to be thinking of N.E.W.T.’s and jobs after Hogwarts.” 

James swears under his breath, rolling his eyes. “If that’s what you wanna tell yourself, there’s no point in trying.” 

Moony bears his teeth. 

“You got something to say, Prongs?” Remus is glaring now. 

“Naw, mate. Nothing at all.” James whirls, sauntering with that ridiculous broom still slung over his shoulder. He laughs loudly at something Remus really doesn’t hear that time, and that’s that. 

The common room is a bustle of activity for a several minutes more as final stragglers dash out for Quidditch practice. It’s worse when it’s finally quiet though. The silence is deafening and Remus can’t concentrate. He wants to join Peter in the stands. He doesn’t want to give James the satisfaction. He wants to find Lily and Alice just to see if Hermione is with them. He wants to avoid the witch he can’t stop thinking about for the rest of his life. 

Remus sucks a deep breath, slowly. Measuring each breath. 

He’s fine. Everything’s fine. 

“ _Lies,”_ Moony snorts. 

“Naff off,” Remus retorts, in no mood to take any from his wolf. 

* * *

It’s the first day of December and everything’s a nightmare. Remus is officially exhausted, Moony is complaining of the cold, insistent he can tell the difference between a roaring fire and a warming charm, and Remus should be doing this in the Common Room. Not alone in an empty classroom. 

“I need the quiet, old boy.” 

“ _Liar._ _Coward._ ” 

Remus doesn’t dignify Moony’s accusations with a response. He’s survived another month by telling himself falsehoods. He can maintain that status quo well enough for another three weeks and two days until Christmas hols. 

_“Lies. Need pack. For real. Not the lies you keep telling.”_

An inexplicable lump forms in Remus’ throat, his eyes suddenly stinging with something hot and wet, but he gives a hard swallow and tries to shove Moony aside. He has work to do. A potion to master. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. 

He doesn’t have time for self-evaluation and reflection over the state of his pack. He needs to press on. 

Because he’s _fine._

Just _fine._

Except that he isn’t. He knows he isn’t. 

He’s come to terms with the fact lies will always be part of his life, being a werewolf at a school he technically shouldn’t be allowed to attend. The lies are different this year, though. He hates telling them to himself, and others. He actually loathes himself for them, because they involve his pack. 

It’s his own fault; he knows that. He downplayed how embarrassed he was falling out of his seat Hermione’s first day all the way back at the end of September, and he’s never admitted to any of the three of them how humiliating that was. He can’t even come clean to Alice about it now, not with her taking on with Hermione so. It all spirals from there. 

Hermione won’t give him the time of day still, and that hurts. Not that he can let on how much it hurts. Sirius teases and Remus lets him. He doesn’t give into a single instinct of Moony’s to fight back with jests of his own. Not this year. He hasn’t the stomach for it. Peter seems to be relieved to be out of the spotlight in terms of teasing for a while, but he doesn’t join in too much. James continues his eerie contemplating and observing, carrying on in this battle of silent wills he and Remus are in. 

Remus doesn’t know who started it first at this point, but it’s well beyond the point where he can try to tell himself it’s all in his head. Moony agrees with him. James gets all blinky and broody every time Remus announces he’s going to the library. He offers for the lads to join him (every bloody time, thank you very much), but they decline. It doesn’t stop James from occasionally dropping in “for a book,” he offers to Remus later. 

Whatever. 

It’s to spy and see where Remus is studying. To see if he’s spending more time with Lily outside of Prefect rounds. 

The sodding, jealous berk. 

Remus wants to shake some sense into his friend's thick head. Wants to have it out for real that he’s? long since moved on. He supposes he could always just talk to James. But he can already hear how that conversation would go: 

“You know I’ve long since moved on from her mate, yeah?” he would ask. 

James would puff his chest, because he’s not one to _not_ know anything (even when he doesn’t). “ ‘Course I do.” 

Moony’s tail would wag and he’d think it’d be the end of it and all would be well with the pack again, until Sirius flounces in and starts up that this actually means there’s merit behind all he’s been saying about Remus and Hermione these last two months. Then Remus would have to deflect as an act of defense, because it just hurts too much otherwise…

There’d be no difference at all by the end of the conversation. If anything, he’ll make things worse by saying anything.

Remus knows this. 

So why bother?

He needs to focus now anyways. He’s supposed to be chopping up three of these roots, then pounding them into fine powder before sprinkling the dust into? the potion simmering in his cauldron. After then he’ll have to—

“What are you doing in here?” 

His heart stops. His throat closes and he can’t remember how to _breathe_. Hang that it’s supposed to be an involuntary reaction; everything about this moment defies all logic itself. 

Because his head jerks up, even as the rest of his body seizes and freezes. 

Hermione is standing in the doorway. She’s standing there with her head tilting to the side, as if in curiosity. She’s staring at him for several silent seconds. Staring and not glaring. Staring and waiting on him to answer. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all. So very much!!!! thank you so much for reading and all your kind thoughts.  
> Dear QuinTalon, I hope you enjoy this chapter!❤️💙
> 
> Thanks to Frumpologist and BlueeyedSue, without whom this story wouldn’t be shared. I’m so grateful for such wonderful friends!

* * *

Remus doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. 

Can’t think beyond the fact Hermione is willingly walking beyond the threshold of the open door towards him. 

She's walking. Right. To. Him.

Moony notices, catalogues, and memorises every little detail about Hermione. “ _Wild coils tonight. Skin dark and glowing and warm. So warm. Like chocolate and cinnamon. Smells like cinnamon, too. And oranges and parchment and specialty ink. Ink stained fingers still. Wonder if they’ll mark us if she touches us. Mark us for her very own_.” 

It’s a dozen things that Remus can’t fight off or fathom a response. 

That’s all right. Really. 

Hermione already thinks him a twat. Why not add imbecile to her list? 

She stops herself close to his desk, just across from him. Her dark eyes look down to his cauldron for what may be five seconds or five minutes. Remus doesn’t know. He can’t say he’s certain of anything at this precise moment in time. 

“This is what we’ve been working on in class the last two weeks.” 

Remus swallows hard. Twice. Okay, three times. Whatever he has to do to make himself answer the question she’s not asking. “I missed some days last week and don’t feel like I’ve grasped it. Wanted the extra practice.” 

“All alone?” 

“D’you honestly think I’d get much done with Sirius, Peter, or James this close to the final Quidditch match of the term?” He arcs a brow right back at her, in spite of himself. 

Her lips quirk in what he thinks is a smile. 

(A _smile_. At _him_.)

“I suppose not.” She lays her hands flat against the desk he’s conjured. “How are you feeling now?” 

Feeling? Moony keens that she’s asked after him, but Remus… He’s tired. There’s an ache in his bones still from their breaking and regrowing last night and earlier this morning, but there’s a potion to conquer, and a Hermione to answer. “I’m all right.” 

“You look tired.” 

“So do you.” The words fly out before he’s able to snatch them back. He knows how tired he looks; he just dismissed himself from the hospital wing and came straight here. Both he and Moony are grumpy from messing with this potion, and he feels he could eat a feast of meat. 

Not that he’s letting Hermione know all these things. 

_“Smooth,”_ Moony snarls at Remus. “ _Lying and snapping. She won’t let us kiss—_ ”

Remus releases a sharp breath by means of interrupting Moony. Maybe that was harsh, and she didn’t mean to say something as an offense. “Sorry.” Breathe in… and out... “ I didn’t mean that. You look lovely as always actually, and I’m not at my best just after taking ill and not sleeping well.” 

“I’m not either,” Hermione answers, and he supposes that’s as good as an acceptance of his apology. Maybe even better. Maybe she’ll ignore or even forget all about him letting it slip that he thinks he’s lovely and always is… She drums her fingers over the desk and adds, “But I shouldn’t have said it like such an accusation, I apologise for that.” 

“What?” Remus doesn’t believe what he thinks he’s heard. 

“I should have accepted your response and not pushed it,” she says, eyes boring into his. “I heard noises outside and thought I’d check. I wanted to come in and stay the moment I saw it was you because I need to apologise to you. I’ve been harsh and cold to you all year up to this point and you’ve no reason to offer me any further explanation on anything. I’m sorry for that, too.” 

Remus has to shake himself. Because he can’t be sure that any of this is happening. “It’s… it’s all right.” 

“No, it isn’t,” Hermione counters. “You have no reason to accept my apology or forgive me for my actions, but I’d very much like for you to do both.” 

“ _Perrrrrrfect witch. Course we accept. Now we can kiss and make up_ —”

“Of course!” Remus all but yells, and it makes him wince. Blood thunders in his veins and his heart races inside his chest, and he needs to get a ruddy grip. She’s given no indication this is anything more than an apology and—

Yeah. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

He needs to bloody breathe and not let things like hormones and scents get in the way of the truce he’s been wanting for months. He can do this. He’s been the diplomatic peacekeeper before. 

“It’s very kind of you and I accept your apology. We have mutual friends and we’re in the same house together for the last year-and-a-half at school. I’d prefer not to spend all that time at odds with someone I’d rather be friends with.” 

“Same.” She's _definitely_ smiling now, and it shoots right through him. Or maybe _into_ him, making him beam. She starts to move, side stepping around the conjured bench, actually, stopping only when she’s less than an arm’s length away, and Remus is fit to burst now. _Burst_. 

She licks her lips and parts them, dropping her gaze this time. “I… have a confession.” She pauses and lifts her eyes to his again, and there’s something different in her gaze now. Something he can’t trace, but he’s not sure he likes. Her thumb begins to tap against the desk. “I’m sure there’s a proper way to go about this here, my Veela friends always just came out and told us at Beauxbatons—but if you don’t _want_ me to know, that’s fair and I’d hate to take that away from you. But if I know something that can make your life easier, I’d like you to feel free and be more at ease with me, and—” 

“You’re losing me, Hermione.” Remus interrupts, even as everything tunnels. Moony warns he’s scenting fear, and it makes his blood turn cold. He pushes the cutting board away, giving up all pretenses of productivity now. “Speak plainly; I think we could use a bit of honesty between us.” 

“Are you a werewolf?” 

_No. Not here, not now. Not_ **_her_** **.** “Am I—”   
  
“And before you think I’m asking out of any sort of backward, stupid need to know and spread tales and see if I can get you into trouble with any of the professors—which would be idiotic, really, because I’m sure they’d at least know—this is purely for my own curiosity. My parents are both Muggle teeth healers, which doesn’t sound like much here, but it means they’ve both studied and worked _very_ hard to own their own practice, and—”

“They’re smart,” Remus fills in for her, deciding it’s the only way he’ll get a word in at some point. And if she’s going to interrupt him, it’s only fair. “They’re very smart and have likely worked twice as hard to earn all they have, which means they’ve passed that on to you.” His heart sinks with a sudden thought. “Is that the only reason you wanted to apologise? Because you found something out and pity me now?” 

“No!” She jerks forward, hands rising from the table and reaching out to him, before she catches herself. Before she remembers they weren’t friends before this temporary truce. _Or_ … before she remembers what she’s just asked him. 

Remus doesn’t know which is worse. 

He can’t stay here. Can’t be in this room with her anymore. 

“Apology accepted, Hermione. Thank you and good night.” He’s not looking at her, and his voice is gruff. It’s petty, but this was a pity apology and equal rights thing, and she only feels bad because she’s hurt the misunderstood being… _This_ is why he keeps things from Alice and Frank still. _This_. This right here. He doesn’t want to deal with… _this_ shite. He starts to vanish untouched ingredients; so much for getting ahead. 

“Please don’t pack up because of me.” 

“I’m not.” His jaw tightens and he’s still not looking at her. “As you observed, I’m tired. I’ve been tired for several days now, and I should just get a proper night’s sleep.” 

Silence. 

He levitates his bag to the desk to pack away the vials Slughorn allowed him to borrow.

She speaks, barely a murmur now. “May I help?” 

He slams his textbook shut and shoves it in his bag next. “I’ve got it.” 

“Please don’t go, Remus.” There’s a watery edge to her voice now. It makes Remus want to stop, but he can’t. Not yet. Not until the tips of her fingers rest at the edge of his sleeve on the desktop. So bloody close to touching him… “I bumbled all this, and you can leave now. You can believe what you want, but please hear me out. Please.” 

“Why?” He tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry. 

“Because I was embarrassed at first. My pride was hurt in class and suddenly all these people I don’t know are asking if I’m Veela or whispering together and giggling while looking right at me all on the first day. And you’re handsome and fit, and I found myself liking you the more I saw of you, but I’m stubborn and can’t just let things go, until I’ve all but pushed myself to the point of no return.” 

Remus doesn’t speak. Isn’t sure he can convince himself it’s all just happened. His cheeks are burning, though, so it must have. “Is there something wrong with being Veela?” 

“Not at all.” Her voice has softened. “But it’s not the most flattering of inquiries when people are only asking or assuming it because it’s the only reason they can fathom a wizard would fall out of his seat looking at me.” 

_Ah._

Oh dear. 

His eyes snap to hers, finding everything vulnerable and soft in her expression. “Truly?” 

“Yeah.” Her smile is crooked and she gives a shrug. “Hogwarts isn’t the most diverse of populations, and it was challenging at times at Beauxbatons being one of the few girls without perfectly straight, blonde hair and fair skin—” 

“You’re beautiful.” Remus moves without thinking, turning completely and taking up her hand, slotting his fingers through hers. He meets her widened gaze and steps right into her space. “You’re so beautiful that my insanely hormonal inner wolf took complete hold of my body that first class and boldly tried to move closer somehow so we could talk to you. So that maybe we’d— _I’_ _d—_ Remus, _me,_ just _Remus_ would be the only person you talked to and thought about all the rest of class.” 

“Oh.” She exhales in an adorable puff, her breath warm against his chin and neck. (When did he get this close??) “Thank you, then.” She gives his fingers a squeeze. “I'm sorry it didn’t work out like you wanted.” 

“That’s all right.” He drops his gaze to their still joined hands. Begins to smile. And feel much lighter. “This is nice.” 

She doesn’t answer right away and he worries. Worries he’s taken things a step too far. Crossed a line she’d never intended to. People can objectively find others “handsome” and “fit” without being attracted to them and wanting… wanting… _more._ And—

“I concur,” she murmurs at last, giving his fingers a final squeeze before pulling her hand back. “Are you still going to pack up, or would you like some assistance with that potion?” 

“I think I’m done for the night.” Remus checks his bag once more, making sure he’s packed all that needed to be. He slings it over his shoulder and picks up his cauldron, vanishing the desk and tools last. “I really am tired—more so than I care to admit.” 

“D’you get behind in school because of… well everything? The moon and all?”

“No.” Remus pulls the door open, waiting for Hermione to pass through first before closing and locking it behind him. She’s waiting on him, and he suddenly has the notion it’d be pretty all right if they held hands back up to Gryffindor Tower.

“ _Do it! Do it, do it, do it. DO. IT.”_

Remus slips his hands into his pockets, ignoring Moony’s growling and complaining as he walks with Hermione. (Walks! With! Hermione!) “The short answer is no. I’ve always kept up. James, Sirius, and Peter help when they can with whatever they can, but it’s different this year. They’re smart—Sirius and James especially—but they’re both also lazy—” 

Hermione snorts. 

Remus sees her eyes roll, and quirks a brow at her. “Something you care to add?” 

“They’re sixteen-year-old boys who’d rather be playing Quidditch or exploring hormonal sensations. Of course they’re insufferably lazy when they’re so frustratingly smart.” 

A sly grin begins to creep up Remus’ face. “Which one of them bested you in an assignment?” 

“Neither!” Hermione pauses. “That I know of at least. _Yet_ … James Potter clearly has little sense of privacy, and seems to feel that Lily needs to be in the know of all his marks. Sirius always has the correct answers when called upon in class, so I can only surmise his marks are exceptional, too.” 

“For the most part,” Remus agrees. “They’re able to get away with only wanting to do what’s required at the last moment it’s required of them here and now, but that’s not enough for me. Not anymore.” He lets the admission sit between them until it seems to grow. Grow until it washes over him. For as much as he’s wanted _more_ this year, he’s yet to say it aloud, and maybe that’s been part of his problem.

Maybe he needs to start believing in himself and his own dreams enough to claim them. 

“Is It hard to find a job in Britain being…?” She trails off looking over her shoulders for students, then narrows her eyes, jerking her head at the whispering portraits. “They’re always watching, aren’t they?” 

“ _Clever witch. Sooooo clever and pretty. Smells sooooo good, too. Want herrrrr.”_

Remus silently bids Moony to shut it as his bobs his head. “Yeah. Bit annoying, really. But in answer to your other question: Yes. It will be.” That lump returns and he needs to swallow. “I did all right in O.W.L.’s; better than I expected if I’m honest. They were so close to the full moon, it was a challenge to stay focused. But seeing how I did… it inspired me, I guess. I had this notion of getting ahead in classes this year and not always feeling like I’m one bad month away from falling behind. Of even starting to prepare for N.E.W.T. exams next year.” 

“I can help!”

It’s the shock of his life when warm fingers curl around his elbow and Remus stops short. Which is fine, because Hermione’s not walking either. 

She’s—

Yeah…

“ _Touching, touching,_ ** _touching!_** _Touching us and smiling! And love her!”_

Remus has no counter argument at the moment. Not a single one. 

Hermione’s outright beaming, her face luminous and glowing in the golden light of the sconces. Her skin appears soft and smooth, and even through the long sleeve of his shirt, Remus can feel the warmth of her touch. It sears into his heart and memory. 

“We’re in every class together,” she says, “which means you either don’t know what you want to do yet, like me, and you want to have as many options available as possible, _or_ you do know and you’re wanting to go for a mastery. And well rounded N.E.W.T. scores will be in your favour when applying.” 

Her hand is still wrapped around his elbow and she’s taken a single step closer, but it’s enough to consume Remus’ every thought. Enough to keep him silent longer than he should have been, but he has to replay what she’s said a couple of times. “The former—first thing, I mean. The first option. The one that’s like you.” His cheeks flame as he’s babbling, but maybe Hermione won’t notice…

If she does, she doesn’t let on. Her smile brightens impossibly more. “Excellent. You can begin studying with Lily, Alice, and myself immediately. We’ve developed a schedule, and I’m sure you’ll have no trouble catching up over Christmas holiday!” 

“Thank you.” His heart sinks. She’s said it all so brightly, as if she truly _wants_ him to join them… he hates disappointing. He especially hates disappointing _her_ already. For some reason. “I can’t, though.” 

“Oh.” Hermione drops her hand. “Because of—”

“Lily knows,” he supplies. “Has known for years.” 

“Oh.” She licks her lips, studying him. As if trying to decide if she should be hurt or not. “Would it be too complicated with Alice?” 

“It’s… complicated because of Lily. James makes it complicated.” 

“Potter?” 

She… doesn’t spit out his name, but neither does she seem entirely pleased with the idea that he’s ruining her plans. It makes pixies flutter in his chest to know she’s unhappy about something on behalf of Remus—he hasn’t hurt her after all. Hermione’s lips twist and fold inward and she resumes walking, her hair bouncing as she suddenly turns. Remus catches her in three long strides.

“I’ll have to get the truth of the matter from Lily then,” she begins, sliding her eyes to his. “Then you can confess your side of it tomorrow after dinner when we practice the potion together—will that classroom be available again?” 

“Erm… Yes.” Remus’ throat bobs. “Yes. Should be. If we meet after dinner, we should get there before a couple can arrive to claim it for a clandestine snog session.” 

“Perfect.” 

Remus can’t think of a better word to describe the unexpected turn of things tonight. 

* * *

Rubbish. 

It’s all rubbish tonight, and _so_ far from perfect. 

There are so many things to chop, too many ingredients! And they all give off pungent smells. So many strong aromas… 

Hermione’s calming scent is lost in the chaos…

And Moony is barking and pacing an insufferable storm. 

Hermione speaks through the haze, “You’re doing great, Remus. You cut with such precise movements. Firm and commanding.” 

The tips of Remu’s ears burn, and he… doesn’t know how to respond. Everything feels warm and cold all at once. More real than it’s ever been, and so utterly unreal, too. “My mum taught me how to use a knife proper like when I was young. She cooks most everything from scratch, and at first I was afraid of her knives. She told me it was a tool and nothing to be afraid of if handled correctly. I was her kitchen helper for months after that, until I was even and steady and no longer uncomfortable.” 

“I like her.” Hermione smiles at him and motions over her own chopping block. “Mum and Dad have always been too busy for such thorough home cooking. They find things half prepped for us. Anything that’s tinned or frozen or already cut up. Dad’s really the better of cooks between the two of them, but it’s always delicious.”

“All that matters, then.” 

They go quiet while chopping again, but Remus isn’t thinking of this potion. He’s thinking of how his life’s changed in a matter of twenty-four hours. Of how the course of his life has changed. Because Hermione wants to help him. He’s working with someone other than Sirius, James, or Peter—voluntarily at that! It’s not a class assignment, and _she_ invited herself to assist _him_. It makes him think of when Alice waited and walked with him that one time. 

He wonders if he’s never been quite as alone as he’s perceived himself to be.

It’s been easy talking to Hermione this last hour. Talking _with_ her, too. Of nothing and everything. She first brought up the Lily and James matter, and announced they’ll not do anything about it until after Christmas hols, and Remus agrees, though he doesn’t know if anything’s to be done about it. Or if it’s their place to meddle… Not that James or Sirius afford him that same courtesy… 

He’s chopping harder, louder. He needs to think of something other than his friends. “You’ve avoided me all this time,” he hears himself saying. “But you didn’t today.” 

“I know. I really am sorry for the past few months.” Hermione stops chopping, so Remus does, too. “I’d take it all back now if I could and just talk to you earlier on.” 

His throat bobs. “Why didn’t you? I’ve tried to talk to you, so you’ve had the opportunity.” 

“I’ve been embarrassed.” She gives a useless looking shrug, but her eyes never leave his. “And I didn’t handle it well on top of sorting out this whole transferring of schools situation.” 

“Right.” Remus leans towards her, gaze locked onto hers. She smells clean and there’s that alluring underlying scent of cinnamon and oranges and specialty ink. Her eyes are so full and beautiful, he wants to never look away… He shakes himself, literally. And looks back to his chopping block. “I’m ready to start grinding this lot up.” 

“Mine is, too.” She slides her chopping block towards him. 

“Thanks.” They’re speechless again, taking turns clearing throats and not looking at each other because they’re both fixated on Remus’ pounding.

Only Remus is still thinking of Hermione. Wants to know everything there is to know about her. Everything she’ll tell him. “Why did you transfer this year?” 

A heavy sigh is her first answer and Remus almost regrets asking. Almost. 

_“We can help!_ ” Moony’s ears perk and twitch, and he’s far from regretful. “ _We can comfort. Hold her close and safe. Snog her senseless so she doesn’t miss anything_ —” 

“It was actually my decision,” Hermione starts. “Mum and Dad are part of a large practice, which means their patient load can be shared and split up, freeing their time for other means of work. None of us were keen on Professor Slughorn when he came to deliver my letter. They wrote to the school and somehow an owl was _there,_ outside our house, and carried the letter to Professor Dumbledore. Apparently they’d inquired after other magical schooling options and Professor Dumbledore provided them with all necessary information. He even wrote their headmasters in advance, saying we might be inquiring. 

“Beauxbatons ended up being what felt like the right fit at the time. Mum and Dad love the travel and they’ve been able to be involved in more charity work this way.” She pauses, gnawing on her lip before continuing. “But they’d started talking about having their own practice, and for as much as I enjoyed school in France, I want to have the option of working for the British Ministry of Magic.” 

“You still could,” Remus points out, pouring off the powder, only to scoop Hermione’s bits and begin pouding again. “Might make you more hireable, in fact.” 

“No.” Hermione shakes her head. “If I start to get to know professors here and now, those will be invaluable connections for later. Plus, it gives me time to discern if I’d rather pursue a mastery or not. Futures are more set in stone at Beauxbatons: find your mate and work for the Ministry. Or get married and work at a museum or archives facility.” 

Mate. 

“ _Mate_.” Moony repeats, all dreamy and sing-song. 

Remus keeps pounding so she can’t see his thoughts. He’s never thought much of the term. Never had the opportunity to ask an adult werewolf if what he’s read about mates is true or not. Never considered the possibility it all _could_ be true. Much less applicable to _him._ _Mate_. The word sinks into his bones, down to his marrow, as Hermione clucks her tongue looking over Remus’ notes. She conjures a quill and begins to scribble in the margins of Remus’ parchment. 

He licks his lips as he studies the powder, deciding is adequate to be added to the cauldron. She reminds him to stir counterclockwise three times just after adding all the powdered root, then twelve times exactly clockwise. 

_Mate_. It’s not such a horrible word, but for tonight, he’s happy to just be. To be here with her. And maybe have her consider him a _friend._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and thanks always to Frumpologist and BlueeyedSue💙💙💙
> 
> And to QuinTalon!!! Because you’re wonderful!!! And all you wonderful people who read my nonsense and then go and leave such kind words, too!! 💜💙

* * *

“Moony, Moony, Moony.” 

“ _Uh oh.”_ His wolf huffs through his nose as his ears twitch and tail droops between his hind legs. 

Remus stifles a noise in the back of his throat; he doesn’t know if it was a groan or a sigh. His eyes fall closed either way, squeezing tight as he silently counts to five. 

“What is it, Pads?” 

“That all you got for your dear old Padfoot?” Sirius feigns offense, his grey eyes dramatically wide, hand splayed over his chest, as if wounded. It’d be far more believable without the grin threatening to split across his face. “No _Good morning, dearest friend. How are you?_ No, _How’s it been the last week?_ Or, _You’ve been practising in all that snow?_ Cor.” Sirius whistles long and low, shaking his head. “Thought we were more than that.” 

Groan. Remus silenced a groan earlier. As he is now. “We’re roommates and just talked about all this last night.” 

“We did not.” 

“We most certainly did,” Remus retorts, on the verge of snapping, because he doesn’t like where he thinks this is going. “Regardless if you were too tired to remember it, you and James came in half frozen from Quidditch practice at half eight last night—which is stupid of Captain Kyles because the next match isn’t until next year—and Peter was a virtual ball of ice, too! I whipped down to the kitchens for the elves to send up two mugs of hot chocolate for each of you lot.” 

“You didn’t drink with us,” Sirius pouts, folding his arms across his chest. 

Remus’ gaze narrows. This is bordering on ridiculous now. “You’d each already downed both mugs by the time I got back up. James and Peter were already asleep, but you and I talked for nearly another half-an-hour as I recall.” 

“Not the same.” Sirius’s arms fall to his side and he cants his head at Remus. “You know it’s not. You didn’t order a mug for yourself—”

“I didn’t _want_ a hot choco—” 

“You didn’t tell me much, just extra studying and library visits—” 

“Because that’s nothing earth shatter—” 

“You didn’t _talk_ , mate!” 

“Shhhhhhhhh!” Remus is out of his seat now, book slammed shut and any lingering hopes of possibly catching Hermione and walking with her to the Great Hall for breakfast this sunny, snowy Saturday morning have been thoroughly and effectively smashed. Into a thousand little pieces. And thrown out the window of the Gryffindor Tower. “You got something to say, Pads, then let’s take a walk.” 

Sirius gives a shrug that Remus _hates_. Really, _really_ hates. It’s quite effective in getting a rise out of his parents, and making a great show of not caring about any of the Pureblood nonsense they throw at him. But it means he’s moments away from shutting down and acting out of pure defense. 

“ _Pack’s hurt.”_ Moony pads softly to the fringes of Remus’ mind, sniffing. Studying. “ _Padfoot’s hurt.”_

Remus drops his book to the couch and is more than a little gentle and cautious as he wraps a hand around Sirius’ upper arm. “Come on. A walk while we talk. We can even cast a silencing charm if you wanna make things rowdy and loud.” 

Sirius snorts, but allows himself to be pulled along. “Only if you insist…” 

* * *

A bit of talking is all Sirius needed it seemed. He tried to tease about Hermione, and the change in their interactions—the fact that there _were_ interactions now—but it didn’t bother him. Not like before when picking at something real that had been hurting him. He blushes a bit today as he admitted how much Moony likes her scent. How beautiful and smart she is. How he’s not sure if he should get her a Christmas present or not… 

It’s all well and fun talking like this with Sirius because it’s light and… well, they’ve kept it fun. Remus doesn’t ask for an apology for anything Hermione related from earlier in the year. Because he hasn’t told them how much their jests truly affected him. Because there’s no point in getting into _that_. Not now. Not when Sirius is laughing it off and they’ve come to the Great Hall. 

Not when James and Peter are already seated near Lily, Alice, and Hermione. 

“ _Mine…”_ Moony croons, noting the empty seat on one side of her. 

Remus slides into the space next to James, though, which is across and sort of diagonal from Hermione. Close enough. He’ll be studying with her at the library soon enough. Plenty of opportunity to be closer then. Under less prying eyes. 

James curls his hands around the platter of toast and marmalade, passing them back to Remus, and all seems normal and well…

“You and Sirius work out your lover’s spat?” 

Sirius scoffs and helps himself to three sausages before reaching for the eggs. “The sod didn’t kiss me. I’m feeling cheated.” 

“Aww, cut him some slack, mate.” James’ lips curl into a feral smirk. “Moony’s never had the opportunity to kiss, and probably doesn’t want to give you a bad impression.” 

Remus’ fists curl into balls, white hot emotion coursing through him. He wants to slam his fists into something. He wants to let his face fall and slam against the table. 

It isn’t what James _said_. Because none of it’s untrue. It’s _how_ he says it. How James talks like he’s mad. Like he’s had all night to get worked up over something and it’s boiling over into something this morning...

And Remus doesn’t know what to do about it anymore. It’s too much to swallow back. He wants to boil over right back. He wants to snatch James by the collar of his shirt and slam into the wall. He wants—

It’s Lily who pipes up. “Bold of you to speak as though snogging experience counted for much, James.” 

“You think it doesn’t, Lils?” James forgets all about Remus now. Because Lily has mostly been as Hermione had to Remus: polite, yet cold indifference. Acknowledgement of existence and little more. 

This is at least _something_. Something _she_ initiates. 

Hermione’s eyes flutter between Lily and James and over to Remus. She tilts her head in an unspoken question. He answers with a weak smile of his own and unclenches his hands to take two pieces of toast. 

“Not particularly.” Lily picks up her teacup, green eyes locked on James as she sips. “Snogging can be learned with the right partner. Polite affections, kindness, courtesy, and attention to the little things count for a lot more.” 

“If that’s so, why haven’t you made a move on Petey here? Or Frank or Callum?” James’ voice is low and sultry now, and he’s leaning over the table. “Plenty of nice wizards you can make a move on Lils, but it’s always me you’re trying to get a rise out of.” 

Green eyes flash and Lily’s cheeks redden. “ _James Potter_ , _I never_ —” 

The wizard is on his feet in a single, fluid movement. He winks, _bloody winks_ , at Lily and blows her a kiss. “You never do. But you know the effect you have on me. And I know the effect I have on you—why keep trying to fight it, love?” 

With that, James spins on his heels and saunters for the doors, hands in his pockets. Whistling. Merlin’s saggy Y-fronts, he’s _whistling._

“ _Wanker,”_ Moony huffs, and Remus couldn’t agree more, but doesn’t say anything aloud. 

He’s hungry and other things require his attention now. Like toast in need of marmalade. And eggs. He needs eggs. Lots of eggs. Maybe some yoghurt and an apple this morning, too. And a pear and—are those muffins down there by Frank? 

“See you lot at the library later,” Lily mutters. 

It’s only then that Remus’ attention snaps away from food. He’s content letting it go. _Again_. For the sake of food and a quiet day of studying for exams, he’s willing to let all of this go if only to make it peacefully to the full moon. 

Lily’s cheeks remain flushed and her chest is heaving. There’s something decisive and determined in how she pushes away from the table and off the bench. 

“Where are you going?” Alice queries. 

“Unfinished business. Don’t wait for me.” Lily leaves them to watch as she half stomps, half marches from the Great Hall. 

Something in Remus wishes it were him. 

The remainder of him that almost groans over a bite of marmalade and toast is glad it isn’t. 

* * *

It’s agony leading up to term examinations. 

It’s also bliss. 

Remus studies with Lily, Alice and Hermione every spare moment. He’s never felt so capable. So confident in his studies. So self-assured and in control of his own fate. It’s hard to explain and may even be silly, but for once in his life, he’s being pushed up to and beyond his limits. It’s intoxicating. He needs this always. 

He tries (and fails) to answer something to that effect when Peter asks him how it’s going, noting how happy Remus seems. He doesn’t think Peter gets it, but the next evening, James, Sirius, and Peter are at the library to work as well. Frank joins the next evening for Potions, DADA, and Herbology. There’s a cautious silence the first time they gather as a larger group, but James is quick to laugh it off. 

“Lils and I have had it out and only studying today. No fighting or raised voices. On my honour.” 

Lily doesn’t make a retort, which has both Remus and Moony curious about what happened after Lily left the Great Hall last Saturday. She didn’t say a word about it when meeting up with them in the library later that morning. She’s said nothing and given no hints in the days between. And what’s more, James is silent, too. Not a smirk or smug grin or even that obnoxious whistling. 

He doesn’t even make a snide remark in Remus’ direction. 

He’s just… James. James without something in the world to be upset at, which means he’s taking the time for a little more thought and a bit more kindness. Not much—he’s still the James who likes to clown and fancies himself an important, handsome person…

But he’s not hiding a foul mood this week. 

Remus will take what he can get. 

Because he’s not making waves now. 

Not so close to exams. 

He and Hermione take turns drilling each other as they walk between classes. They tried skipping lunch two days in a row in favour of extra cramming in the library, but Moony was _so_ indignant and irritatingly distracted by all the lingering smells of food from their classmates, and Remus’ stomach growled so loud the remainder of the day, they agreed it wasn’t worth the sacrifice. 

Sirius and James don’t have Quidditch practice this week, but they still fly during the last free period before examinations the next day. Remus asks Hermione if she’d like to run some drills in the bleachers with Peter and is almost shocked that she agrees. 

There’s a warmth to her smile that lights a fire in _him_. They read aloud, quiz each other, and toss random bits of useless trivia back and forth for an entire hour-and-a-half, wrapped tight in their coats and scarves under several layers of warming charms. The world from their view is white, barren, and frozen, but Remus cast several layers of warming charms over their time outside, so he’s not cold. 

Hermione isn’t either. She thanks him when the lads declare they’ve finished, and compliments Peter on his knowledge of Magical History when the ninety minutes is up. To add to the surprises of the day, she goes and inquires if James and Sirius would be so kind as to show off a few skills and tricks—only for a moment. Before they go inside. She adds the _please_ and that’s the difference that snaps James and Sirius from a stunned stupor. 

Moony begins to pace and huff. “ _Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. NOT Pads or Prongs. Mine.”_

“Easy, old boy.” Remus murmurs under his breath. It could be politeness, and not true interest in either of his friends. 

Orrrrrrr…

It _could_ be interest in one of the wizards on the broomstick, and all along, Remus has only been a means to get to one of the more handsome of his friends. One without scars streaking across his face. One of the more charming and financially set friends. One without Remus’ condition—

Something brushes against his knee and he stills. 

He looks down without moving his face…

Finding Hermione’s knee pressing into his. 

He snaps his eyes up, face moving this time, because he wants to see— _has_ to _know_ —was this an accident, or…? 

Her full lips are bent upwards in a smile when he meets her gaze. She arcs a brow and tilts her head in an unspoken question, nudging his knee with hers. 

The fire in his chest roars with new life, and the world is alive and white and silver. It’s a canopy of magic, protecting everything. Full of promise to keep the trees and the ground safe from the brunt of the cold until spring. 

Moony barks loudly and then grunts. “ _More,_ ” he urges. Hermione’s given an opening, and he’s not missing this chance to bask in whatever she has to give. 

Remus wants to enjoy every moment of this, though. To languish in the time offered. His actions are not obvious to anyone watching, but he knows precisely when he shifts that much closer to Hermione. Close enough to be knee-to-knee and thigh-to-thigh. Their arms rest against each other and they share more looks than Remus can keep track of. 

From the outside looking in, it may appear as a girl huddling closer for a bit of warmth, but it’s everything to Remus. It’s the first he’s allowed someone this close. It’s the first anyone’s _wanted_ to be this close. He drinks in her dizzying scent with every inhale, and delights in hearing her exhaled puffs in sync with his. They watch and cheer and clap, managing to keep close contact in all that time, and Remus has the feeling this moment is like a shared dance. A secret dance. Just between them. One he wishes would never end. 

* * *

All things end, including studying. 

Because all things begin, including examination week. 

There’s a bustle and flurry and rush to Hogsmeade the Saturday morning before exams begin on Monday for half a day. Sirius declares he’ll stay as long as he likes and he’s not interested in the least at getting back any particular time. James’ eyes slide in Lily’s direction, but he makes no comment either way—just slings his arm over Sirius’ shoulder and says they’ve all the time in the world. 

Remus wishes he felt that at ease, with himself and the state of school work. And with searching for a present for Hermione. 

He’s not, though. 

He may or may not even snap when Sirius begins to poke fun. 

“On the hunt for something special for your new squeeze, yeah?” 

Remus ignores the smirk in Sirius’ voice, and fixes his eyes on the bookshelf. “She’s not a pillow or stuffed child’s toy. She’s a person.” 

“Right. A person with curves I bet Moony would like to get a feel of.” 

_“Yes.”_

“Shush.” 

Remus hisses at his wolf in silence. This is no time for distraction or bloody losing it. He’s meeting Hermione in three quarters of an hour and has yet to find a present he’s certain she’ll like. And he still has to hike back to Hogwarts and hide all these packages and parcels under lock and charm in his trunk. Sirius will find and open his present otherwise. 

Speaking of, Sirius doesn’t appear keen on the non-answering stance Remus has taken up. 

“Saw the way you two were huddled up while we were flying,” Sirius adds, smug and brimming with energy. “Bet she would have sat on your lap if you’d offered. Or maybe you could have sat on hers—” 

“Enough!” Remus whips his head around, facing his friend. He’s breathing hard now, and all the muscles in his arm have tightening, like a spring coiling. Waiting to be released. His hand twitches and he takes a step back. Another, and then another. “I don’t know what’s happening there, mate—I don’t know. But I don’t want a lot of meddling and crass jokes while I’m still figuring this out, okay?” 

“Sure, mate.” Sirius steps away, too, and it’s a bit like a knife to Remus’ gut. First James, now Sirius.

He can’t bear it. “Sirius, I didn’t mean—” What? He didn’t mean what? He takes a step towards his friend. And another, shaking his head. He meant what he said, what he asked for. It’s not an unreasonable ask from one friend to another. He tries again. “I’m not angry. I just don’t want—”

“Meddling.” Sirius’ face splits with a crooked smile and he shrugs a shoulder. “Or you’ll probably rip my arm off, or hurt yourself trying to stop yourself. Message received loud and clear, Moony.” He turns away and Remus wants to follow him to the front of the store. 

Wants to give up on this useless search, since he’ll never find something appropriate, tasteful, and special enough to say all the confusing things he wants to say to Hermione. _I like you, could you like me? Would you be my friend still even if not? You’re beautiful and amazing, and my wolf thinks you’re the most delicious human he’s ever smelled. I’m so glad you’re here. Please don’t leave. Thank you for giving me a chance._

He’s so lost to this hazy quagmire of thoughts the he almost misses when Sirius calls out over his shoulder: 

“Moony knows, mate. Trust Moony’s instinct.” 

Sirius is out the door, ensuring he’s the final word, leaving Remus with now… thirty-seven minutes to figure this mess of a Christmas present out. 

* * *

In the end, it’s a Moony approved present, and that’s how Remus decides. 

Not that there’s time to think on it over the last weekend of studying. Or during exam week. They’re all shells of their former selves over exam week. The castle is all a bustle and aglow with holiday decorations and cheer. First and second years are loud and bubbly, bursting with all that childlike wonder and excitement for the end of term. Even some third years still seem to be taking this week lightly. 

Remus forgets all about Hermione’s present and if he picked out the right thing to convey the right message. It’s also all he thinks about. It looms and presses against his mind all the while he sits for an exam, studies, eats, and sleeps. 

He’s never been so happy for an exam period to be over. He’s never been more terrified to say goodbye to a girl. 

Never been so—

“ _She’s hugging us! She’s hugging. Us!”_ Moony yips and snips quick, high-pitched sounds. He leaps and prances. 

Because Hermione throws her arms around Remus without hesitation as they see each other in the Gryffindor Common Room before the carriages depart for the train station at Hogsmeade. She smells like Christmas and ink and books. It’s a bit uncomfortable with her arms tight around his neck; Remus never wants to let go. He pulls her closer, holding fast and hard, breathing her in. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles into her curls. 

“For what?” She’s whispering back, and it sets pixies loose in his chest and stomach. Secret words. Just for them. “You accepted my apology. Thank _you_.” She loosens her hold and it’s agony to let her go. 

It’s every ounce of restraint he can muster to not bend down and kiss her cheek. Her lips. The top of her neck not covered by her scarf. 

She looks around him, brows knitting together in confusion. “Is your trunk already downstairs?” 

“I’m not leaving today,” he answers, leaning back into her space. He whispers against the shell of her ear, “Full moon tomorrow night. Easier to go through it here.” 

“I see.” Her breath hitches and something deep within him purrs in delight. “Will you write to me when you’re home then? I don’t have an owl, and…” She backs away, only to shove something in his face. Something wrapped neatly and… pretty. There’s a red ribbon tied into a bow over a brown paper package. “Happy Christmas. I trust you’ll wait until the day to open.” 

“I promise.” His fingers curl around the package and he’s torn between staring at it and her. And _it_. And _her_. 

And getting lost in the rich depths of her eyes. In searching to find and count every last fleck of gold now shining in her eyes…

“Hermione, c’mon!” Lily and Alice bustle up with their trunks, hugging Remus and wishing him a happy Christmas and ushering Hermione to hurry so they can find a carriage to all ride together—it’s Hermione’s first one, after all. And Remus is missing it. 

He’s missing her first ride on the Hogwarts Express, too. 

He swallows back the lump of emotion forming in his throat. He’s used to this now. The moon steals so much already, what’s one more thing? 

“ _Everything_.” Moony’s down and mournful, miserable over transformation for the first time _ever_ , and how’s it possible to go from blissfully happy to unbearably sad in the span of thirty seconds—

There’s a rush and a weight slams into him.

Arms wind around his chest and Hermione’s hugging her face to his chest once more. Then letting go before he’s able to recover from the shock of the moment. 

“Open your present on Christmas day, then write me. Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

She’s gone before he can nuzzle and savour, but the feel of her pressing against him… The scent of _her_ … It stays with him long after she’s gone. 

And it’s only after she’s gone he realises he forgot to give her the one thing he’s agonised every spare moment over. 

“ _Idiot_ ,” Moony accuses, snorting and huffing as he paces in angry circles. Remus doesn’t disagree. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters. They're exchanging lots of letters <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: I am altering the timeline of things and Sirius gets kicked out of his home and goes to live with James and the Potter family Christmas break their sixth year. Please be aware that's discussed this chapter, but not until the very end. 
> 
> All love to you, QuinTalon <3 It warms my heart how much you're enjoying this! And I have no chill sharing it all with you!!  
> Thank you to blueeyedsue and Frumpologist for your beta and alpha assistance!!! I'm incredibly lucky and thankful to call you both friends!

* * *

The moon and his transformation is agony. That’s not a new development, though. His pack is playful, but there’s a stiffness in their fun. He _wishes_ that weren’t new, but the term has taken its toll on their friendship. The ache in his chest and bones lasts long into the day after the moon though. He feels it as he sleeps, and _that’s_ what’s new. 

They stay, though. His pack, that is. 

Remus is always in and out of sleep the first day after, and isn’t usually aware of much. He’s aware of his pack this time, though. How they haven’t left yet, even though they’ve gone through another cycle with him. Their families are now waiting on them, and they’ve stayed. Padfoot keeps close, sleeping at the foot of Remus’ bed, curled up in his dog form. Remus isn’t sure if Madam Pomfrey can see him, or if heavy cloaking charms, or James’ cloak itself is involved. 

He’s too tired to ask. 

Tea, toast, and bacon are at his bedside in their room every time he opens his eyes, and Remus supposes that’s James’ doing. Peter always brings him sweets and desserts to tempt him awake, but James, surprisingly enough, is a stickler for nutritious foods for healing after transformation. Moony is always ready to confess undying devotion for either option—just so long as there’s food. 

Remus is relieved and grateful as well when he takes a few bites. Food in his belly settles his nerves, but he doesn’t have much to say when they’re around his bedside asking how he is later. Apparently relief and gratitude aren’t strong enough emotions to erase the tension of their first term as sixth years. 

* * *

Christmas Day is quiet at the Lupin home. 

It always has been. 

His father is still ashamed of what Remus is—or maybe his involvement at the Ministry to provoke such a crime against a child. Remus doesn’t ask. They’ve gone this long and he doesn’t remember what it’s like to simply have his father smile and offer Remus praise of any sort. It’s enough he works and provides them with a comfortable home and food. And Remus isn’t involved in Quidditch or any other club at Hogwarts, so there’s little for his father to inquire after as long as Remus maintains decent grades. 

Mum _loves_ the holidays. She decorates every available inch of their home and takes care to neatly wrap each present in paper she thinks the recipient will enjoy most. She’s the one who notices when Remus adds not three, but _four_ presents to his pile under the tree when he’s finished unpacking. 

“Made any new friends this term?” she queries gently, proffering him a mug of hot chocolate. 

Remus blows over the drink for a sip before answering. He thinks of his wording as he licks his lips. “I have,” he answers, deciding it’s not an untrue statement. “There’s a transfer student from Beauxbatons in France, and she’s also a sixth year. Sorted into Gryffindor, too.” 

“Well, fancy that.” His mum is smiling, but trying to hide it behind her own mug. Not that Remus is fooled. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about her?” 

“ _Everything_ ,” Moony hums.

To which, Remus hisses back a firm, “No!” of his own. 

He doesn’t realise he’s snapped out loud until he sees the hurt all across Mum’s face. And the way she’s drumming her fingers over her mug. He’s sorry now. They don’t write much in the year, but it’s enough to know his parents truly love him and care. 

That at the very least, Mum wants to know about as much of his life as he’ll share. 

“I didn’t mean that, Mum,” he starts, taking care of his hot chocolate as he scoots himself across the floor. “My wolf’s always loudest just before and after the moon, and I was answering him.” 

To her credit, she smiles and accepts his apology without condition or question. She leans back in her seat and proceeds to let Remus talk and talk and talk about Hermione. 

It’s balm to his aching sixteen-year-old heart. 

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_A very happy Christmas to you! I’m writing you immediately after we’ve opened presents because I didn’t remember until after you’d left I’d forgotten to give you_ _your_ _present. I hope you like it. I debated a long while over what to get you. Please know that it’s nowhere near as special and magnificent as this scarf and hat you gave me. Truly. It’s the softest wool or cotton or combination of the two I’ve ever felt! And the snow lingers at Hogwarts much longer than I’m sure you’re used to at Beauxbatons, so I’ll be getting use from these long into the term._

_Happy Christmas. I hope it’s a beautiful day._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus_

* * *

_Remus!_

_I’m too excited for formalities, because how did you know?! This is the exact ink I prefer and however did_ _you_ _find it?? Mum special orders it for me from a shop in Paris_ — _I hope you didn’t go through all of that trouble for me._

 _You really like the scarf and hat? Truly? I’ve been knitting for years, something a friend from school taught me. My gran tried to teach me ages ago, but I was too impatient to learn back then. Her wool was always rough and cheap. Aimee taught me how to search for and use much finer and softer materials. And in the end, it’s become a soothing hobby_ . _It calms my nerves when I start to stress over school._

_It’s snowing here, but doesn’t feel as cold as Hogwarts. Probably the wind. And modern heating systems. And carpet everywhere. I love carpet and it’s such a peculiar thing to miss when I go to school. Hogwarts is like something out of a Medieval knight’s tale, but Beauxbatons reminds me of a rich fairytale. One where dreams always come true and no one is ever hungry or sick. Or even sad. Some of those things were true at least, but I always missed my parents while there._

_I know it’s not normal to be so close to one’s parents, but I can’t help it. I’m so proud of them and all they’ve accomplished in life. I’m proud of all they did for me when I was younger and bouts of accidental magic continually happened. They never punished or blamed me. Or themselves. They kept their minds open and watched me carefully, but never made me feel I couldn’t belong or try to make friends. They didn’t let me give up on trying with people, even when I wanted to._

_Which is why I have to apologise for this term once more. I’m far too stubborn for my own good. I can be petty and quick to shove people interactions aside because I don’t value them enough, or deem them as important as studies. I should never have been as rude to you for as long as I was. And I’m so, so sorry, Remus. I’d take it all back if I could._

_I hope you consider us friends now. Happy Christmas to you, too._

_Hermione_

* * *

_You knit while you read? How in the name of Merlin does that work, and why haven’t we seen you do it yet? Do you see much of your grandparents over the holidays or over summer?_

_We don’t. See my grandparents, that is. It’s mostly Mum, Dad, and myself. Quiet, but I’m used to it. Dad’s an only child and was born when his parents were older. They passed away several years back. Mum is a Muggle. She works at an insurance office here in Cardiff. She was when my dad first met her. It’s actually a bit of a funny story about how they met, and remind me to tell you sometime if you’re keen to know. But the point is that Mum’s family is small, and they still don’t know about the magic bit of Dad and me. Which means they definitely don’t know of the werewolf bit, so we generally wait until after the full moon to visit… which is tomorrow, so I suppose that’s why it’s on my mind right now. Boxing Day lunch with grandparents. Something traditional, I suppose._

_What’s your family like? Or Christmas? You wrapped my present with such care, I’ve already pictured you as the sort to love this holiday, but that could be entirely inaccurate and presumptive on my part. I’m curious if I’m right or wrong. With such a close relationship with your parents, I can’t help but picture a day full of love and laughter wherever you are, and that makes me happy for you._

_Think nothing more of last term if you’d prefer. It’s in the past, and I’m happy we’ve moved beyond that now. It’s been… it was an odd term for many reasons, but I bear you no ill will going into this new term. Please know that. And know that I’m looking forward to continuing our friendship, too._

_Also, I’ve now worn my scarf outside several times and it’s the best I’ve ever worn._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus_

_P._ _S_. _Something I’ve still wondered—you left class that first day so fast. Rushed out without a second look back. Why?_

* * *

_Hello you,_

_I’m addressing this first, Remus, because it must be important if you’ve still asked me about it. I’m not sure the answer you’re looking for, but it was my first day at a new school. I’d only arrived from spending the night before at Hogsmeade with my parents. I hadn’t even toured the castle, and suddenly I’m sorted into Gryffindor and the Headmaster is handing me a map, while Professor McGonagall is giving me my time table for classes. The headmaster’s map was hardly the most self explanatory. I didn’t want to get lost._

_I’d love to hear about how your parents met sometime! Mine met at university. They were rivals for grades, until they decided to combine forces and work together to make it into a dental school together. They make Christmas wonderful. It’s full of old traditions and brightly coloured jumpers and large, multi-coloured tree lights. There’s a pot of mulled cider that I never want to reach the bottom of because the recipe is from Dad’s mum, and everything about her cooking is comforting and homey. If Professor Slughorn ever makes good on his word on brewing Amortentia, I know mine will somehow remind me of mulled cider._

_Also, it can’t be the best scarf you’ve ever worn.I refuse to accept that, because I know my knitting compared to something made by professionals. But I’ll accept you’re thoughtful and kind, and thank you for that. I hope you’re enjoying it!_

_Thank you for your letters, I am happy for the chance to talk to you still over the holiday. I hope the full moon was… as well as could be expected for you. Forgive my ignorance, but does it hurt? Do you need a fresh supply of pain potions for your dorm room? I can brew some for you—there are several varieties available and several taste pairing options, and we can cater it to your specifications!_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Alice and I could have taken you and there would have been no map problem at all._

_Slughorn won’t pass up any opportunity to make his star pupils shine all the brighter (which is you; you and Lily). I’m sure he’ll find a way to incorporate such a brew in the curriculum somehow._

_It’s funny, Mum and Dad have seen me go through changes from the time I was five until I went to Hogwarts. James, Sirius, Peter and Madam Pompfrey have been there for me through the changes since first year. And I don’t know if in all that time anyone has asked me if it hurts. Probably because they’ve all experienced it with me in some form or fashion. Madam Promfrey is kind and keeps on hand the combination pain and bone regeneration potion I need for afterwards, and there’s usually a sleeping draft on the ready, to ensure I sleep at least eight hours afterwards._

_It’s weird seeing that we’ve been going through this cycle together, my friends and I, for six years now. That’s almost as long as only at home with Mum and Dad. It makes me wonder if I’m due for a change soon, because that’s just how life is. People cycle in and out, and come and go. Things aren’t permanent, and maybe relationships aren’t either…_

_What do you think?_

_Yours in thought,_

_Remus_

* * *

_Remus,_

_First things first, I’m taking Mum into Diagon Alley with me soon for some holiday shopping, and is there a particular owl treat yours prefers? Some mice even? I feel horrible how often we make her fly and feel terrible I don’t have more to thank her with._

_Per your inquiry about people and change, I think friendships have the opportunity to last a lifetime. And considering all you’ve been through with yours, such bonds are not easily broken. However, I also believe there’s a difference in working through hard friendship seasons and knowing someone isn’t meant to be in your life anymore. That someone isn’t bringing out your best and doesn’t have your best at heart._

_It’s hard to say precisely, but the difference is love. And I think that before any decisions are made, love should always be considered as the main factor. Always._

_I’d ask you more, but something tells me this would be best as an in-person conversation at some point._

_Until then, keep writing. I’m enjoying our exchange._

_Hermione_

* * *

_You might as well know that I’m more than enjoying this exchange. I’m bloody thrilled. I actually even think Rufus is, too—the owl. Rufus the Owl. Mum only ever feeds him and lets him out for hunting. Dad doesn’t need him too much for work these days. The lads aren’t much for correspondence between terms. It’s understood by now we’re all to appear at the Potter mansion at some point, and stay until… whenever. I’ll be arriving New Year’s Day over this break and staying until we board at King’s Cross. Mum and Dad are always there for a proper send off._

_What you said about friendships… I reckon I think too much, but people are never simple enough to be all good or bad, or always excellent mates or bullies to look out for. My friends aren’t what I would call bullies, but a couple of them have been known to take something too far and need to go back and apologise. There’s certainly an air of confidence between them I’ve never possessed, and I know they think the world is theirs to do and try anything… but they’re decent and loyal and kind. And they’d do anything for me—_ _have_ _done more than I could ever have dreamed anyone would do for me…_

 _But this year…_ _I’ve had this feeling I’m changing and they’re changing and I don’t know what to do with it. What if this means they don’t want me anymore? What if James will never get over the fact I’m not_ _still_ _keen for Lily? Will I have to prove to him every day for the rest of the year and next before he’s himself around me again? Will Sirius always tease? Will Peter ever have his own thought against the two of them?_

_Worse still, is this all in my head? Were there underlying problems before I fretted daily over you, or am I simply projecting now? I recall wanting more from studies and wishing they would, too, at the beginning of the year, but that seems an age ago now, and, truly. It’s hard to remember if the strain was real or just me even then._

_I don’t expect you to have answers, but Dad never talks of friends. We have coworkers over, but something tells me it’s different. And Mum was too quick to assure me this is all part of growing up and I’ll come through it a better person._

_—Remus_

* * *

They continue to write. And write. And _write_. 

It seems longer than a mere week that they started writing. 

It’s… a lifetime ago now. Or a life of before Hermione Granger Letters and after Hermione Granger Letters. 

Moony’s quite honestly over the moon for it (pun intended, thank you very much). He’s as giddy as a puppy every letter. Even the ones that run deeper and broach harder topics. 

Hermione doesn’t have answers to alleviate his fears or worries, but she listens. And encourages him to ask and see. That he’ll never know something until he asks. And waits for the truth. Because people are complex and don’t always want to talk or confess the first time they’re pushed. She thinks his bond with his friends is something special, though, and people can grow and change together. 

Her latest letter burns a hole in his coat pocket when he arrives at Potter Manor. It arrives just as he’s waiting by the fireplace to Floo over. James wrote earlier that morning telling Remus to arrive before dinner, saying that his mum was serving all their favourites that evening to celebrate New Year’s. Any other time, and Remus would be more than excited for the feast waiting at his friend’s home. Now he needs parchment and a quill. _Immediately_. 

He and Hermione have cycled back around to discussing mates and the various forms. Veela mates seem to present younger, and that’s truly all she’s seen for certain. But, she’s read about werewolf and vampire mates before, in general research, and she wants to ask him things. Things he doesn’t have answers for. Like how the mate’s choice and freewill comes into play. If age limits are involved… or if it’s all about breeding… 

And if a werewolf must be turned by a certain age to have one? 

She’s seen Veela on the hunt for theirs, searching and needing… She doesn’t inquire further about werewolves, though. If they search for mates. If they feel lost and bereft without someone to share their lives with. 

Remus doesn’t know how to answer yet. Only that he’s not sure he wants to… And that he desperately needs to. Needs to keep talking to her. To tell her all he knows about everything she asks, and ask her a dozen and then a hundred more things. 

He needs to know as much about her as she’ll share. 

He’s lost in thought as he stumbles through the Floo with his trunk. Missus Potter is quick to hug and greet him. She immediately levitates his trunk and ushers him to his usual room. Remus can’t get there fast enough. Maybe the lads will leave him to answer his letter before plotting some mischief for tonight. 

Or wanting to fly. 

Maybe they’re already flying _now_ and he has a little time to himself before—

“Moony’s here!” 

“ _Pads! Prongs_ ! _Wormy!”_ Moony yips, tail wagging. His response says more to Remus than the entirety of the term. This is all part of growth and change. They’ll get through all this. 

There’s pounding down the halls and portraits of stuffy old ancestors protesting loudly, and Remus can’t help the smile. Maybe some things won’t ever entirely change, and that’s comforting. And good. Comfort and good are decent signs in stable friendships, and—

He stops short in the room he usually shares with Sirius. 

It’s a mess, which isn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

Except for it _is_ this time. Something very different. 

“Looks like you’ve packed for more than a week before term,” Remus says, taking in the explosion of clothes, books, posters and… and… “Or that Regulus got mad and decided to empty your room as a rubbish idea of a prank.” 

“May be what happened, Moony.” Sirius’ voice is low and thoughtful, and not at all joking. It cuts something in Remus. Something deeper than all his fears of the term. Sirius slips his hands in his pockets and cants his head to the room. “I’ll get the mess more organised before we sleep, yeah? Sorry for this.” 

“It’s all right.” Remus is quick to smile and assure his friend. Letters can wait. Letters _should_ wait. “A little mess is nothing we can’t handle, but is that really what happened?” 

“Dunno.” Sirius shrugs in a way that says he doesn’t want to make a thing of this. And it’s in Remus’ experience those are the precise things that end up being massive situations for Sirius. “Could have been old Walla herself, but she could have ordered Reggie to do it. Or Kreacher—old bastard would have quite the laugh packing me out of home.” 

Cold dread shoots through Remus, drowning out the warmth of Hermione’s letter in his pocket. “What d’you mean, Pads?” 

“I live here now. This is home.” 

“What?” Remus blinks once. Twice. 

Sirius shrugs again. “Dear old Walburga made a scene Christmas Day and I left. Couldn’t take it anymore. Andromeda’s been burned off of the family tree for running off and eloping with that Hufflepuff she’s fancied.” 

Oh. _Oh_. Remus licks his lips, his mouth dry and dread heavy in his heart. “The Muggle-born? Ted Tonks?” Sirius nods and Remus gets it, though he doesn’t want to. The Black family is Pureblood royalty. Sacred Twenty-Eight. Proud generations of Slytherin and not even a half-blood dalliance on the side to risk tarnishing the magical blood. Sirius has never invited them over, for fear that Kreacher might actually be ordered to poison them and make it appear an accident… He tries to collect his thoughts. “She always makes a scene. And Reggie always sides with her. You’ve never packed up before.” 

“Wallagit kicked him out this time—that’s what he’s not telling you.” They turned left to see James leaned against the wall, brushing non-existent lint from his jumper. “He’s not telling you that my Mum and Dad went to Grimmauld Place after Sirius arrived here looking like he’s run for his very life, only to find Walburga in the process of burning Sirius from the family tree too and Kreacher ordered to throw out everything of Sirius’ that could be removed.” He propped himself up and peeked into the room. “Everything was neat enough when Mum brought it all back, dunno how this storm happened in just a week.”

They laugh the laugh of friends who don’t know what else to say. And Remus finds that’s all right. Peter arrives later and James sets him up to share his room. They tackle cleaning and moving Sirius in completely together. They fly together for hours, and eat themselves into a quiet stupor later that night. 

They’re quiet together by the fireplace in the library long after James’ parents retire for the night. James receives an owl and Remus finally sits down to write his. Neither volunteer more information regarding their correspondence, but there’s a faint ring of pink to James’ cheeks and Sirius smirks while Peter sits and smiles. 

It’s a contented silence somehow. Not peaceful, but full. Full of memories and something understood.

And something fragile. Something old that no one wants to break or test. Or seems ready to break. 

Maybe because no one knows how they’ll all come out on the other side. If they’ll come through the other side the same united pack as always. Or if this is the year everything changes. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end!!!! <3 and I didn't want you to have to wait, dear QuinTalon! Here is the rest of the story to enjoy at your leisure! I hope you enjoy! I loved writing this for you!!  
> Although this is the end of this story, I can see writing another in this universe. Because it's only 6th year after all :) I'm sure there are more adventures for these kids to be told! Thank you all for reading and leaving such kind reviews. They mean so much to me. 
> 
> Thank you also to Frumpologist and blueeyedsue for your time and alpha and beta work and love with my nonsense. I love you two!!

* * *

Everything is different the next week at Potter Mansion, yet nothing changes. 

Regulus sends Sirius a Howler and letter. The letter arrives later that very day and Sirius doesn’t say much about it; only that it’s from Reggie. His throat bobs and he folds the letter back neatly before slipping it in his pocket. He’s a more quiet and withdrawn Sirius for the duration of the week. 

James receives several letters, possibly in response to several he himself sends. Remus, too. Sirius doesn’t tease beyond voicing aloud pokes at not being aware his friends were keen to be authors one day. They snort and James opens and closes his mouth several times, either not ready to make a joke back, or not wanting to at all. 

Different. Very different. 

They still fly and roam about in the orchards in the snow. Sirius has them practicing transforming a few times, saying in that sing-song voice of his, “This could be the difference between life and death! We practice!” He’s joking, but he’s not. 

Remus knows there’s a ring of truth to it. 

He’s a danger to his friends. Always has been. 

A danger to them all. 

They’ve broken possibly dozens of rules with the Ministry of Magic to learn Animagus transfiguration last year. All for Remus. All to be with him. To help him. To keep him from being all alone. 

His throat tightens as guilt claws at his chest, and tears sting his eyes separate moments each day of this. The third day it’s so overwhelming he has to lean against a tree and press the heels of his hands into his eyes. It’s not for long; he’s able to collect himself when Prongs makes a loud groan of protest. Remus drops his hands and runs to the sound, only to find a large black dog has tackled the stag and is yipping in glee. A rat darts around and over them, squeaking as he does. 

Something in it almost makes Remus wish he could transform himself, if only to join in the fun. Moony’s tail wags at that, until Remus remembers he’s the reason for all this. 

He goes back to wallowing in guilt and fear. 

* * *

The Hogwarts Express is nothing too terribly exciting anymore. It’s one of those facts of life Remus no longer considers special for himself, unless seeing it through the eyes of first years. 

Or Hermione Granger. 

Her eyes are wide and she’s spouting off fact after historical fact about the train while standing with him and waiting for his parents. Remus wishes he could say she has all of his attention, but that’s not true. He’s on the lookout for his family, he’s rehearsing how to introduce Hermione, and he’s still thinking of how he’d walked up on James and Sirius speaking in hushed tones in the hallway this morning, then stopping all together when Remus approached, and acted as though Remus was seeing things.

Moony is insulted and promptly argues to Remus he can smell the deceit. Remus doesn’t argue with his wolf. He wants to argue with his friends. Wants to push back and ask if they think he’s stupid. 

Maybe they do and that’s why they’ve never studied hard with him. Maybe—

“Remus!” His mum all but attacks him in a strong hug. He catches her sniffle as she embraces him. 

He returns the hug, breathing in her scent of vanilla and butter and cinnamon. “I’ll be better about writing, Mum. Promise.” 

“Don’t you dare go out of your way,” she says, voice watery. “I’m being foolish is all.” 

He squeezes her tight once more. “You’re not and I’ll do better this term.” It’s then that he pulls away and reaches out to shake his father’s hand. His dad makes it a much faster and shorter hug than Mum, and there are those crazy emotions again… Why is he wanting to cry? Why this rush of feelings over his parents? This is ordinary and routine by now. 

And not forever. 

_Still_ … 

He supposes it’s nice remembering his parents care for him.

He turns to Hermione as he pulls away from his dad and clears his throat. “Erm, Hermione, these are my parents, Lyall and Hope Lupin. Mum. Dad. This is Hermione. She’s—”

“Remus’ secret witch he spent all last week sending owls off to!” Sirius. Sirius Orion Black. Sirius Orion Black, git, twat, and bloody sodding _wanker_ extraordinaire. The berk is smiling, grey eyes bright as he looks around the group. Not at all aware of the awkward silence now blanketing over them. He releases Remus to shake hands with his parents. “Good to see you both. We’ll look out for Remus this term and he’ll keep looking out for us—though, I guess with a witch now to consider, all that could take on a whole new meaning this year!” 

“ _Hey!”_ Moony begins to bark, snapping his sharp jaw and glistening teeth. “ _Foul Padfoot. Foul, foul, foul!_

Red. 

Remus sees red. His blood boils and seethes and he’s going to murder Sirius on this very platform. Take great pleasure in pummelling him into the very platform they’ve joked and played around before—

“It’s lovely to meet you both!” 

Softness and warmth cradle his hand and Remus catches a whiff of Hermione. 

Hermione! 

His heart thunders in his chest and Moony continues to bark, huff, and snort so loud, Remus can’t quite hear what’s happening. His eyes tell him he’s seeing Hermione shake hands with his parents. She’s beaming and giggling and holding Remus’ hand all the while. The ends of her coils of curls catch and flutter in the wind, carrying her alluring scent to Remus. 

He wants to drown in it. To forget all about school and growing up and N.E.W.T.’s next year, and live here. Right here in this spot. Breathing in Hermione for the rest of his life. 

(That’s normal, yeah? “ _No,”_ Moony huffs as he starts to pace circles around Remus’ mind. “ _But sounds like a good plan. Let’s do it._ ”) 

They can’t, though. Hermione’s still holding Remus’ hand as she tugs him away and onto the train. There’s a lump lodged in his throat from the Sirius incident, and he doesn’t trust the sounds his voice could make right now. It makes him silently rage all the more that one Sirius Black could so easily and cooly ruin something as ordinary and uneventful as the sendoff at Platform Nine-and-three-quarters. 

He refuses to talk to Sirius once they’re on the train. Hermione glares at the dark haired wizard, but still doesn’t release Remu’s hand as they march through the train. Hermione finds Alice and Frank with Lily. James is seated beside Lily, all composure and ease in his besotted state. 

“You’ll have to leave now, James,” Hermione announces. “Remus will be joining us, as I’m sure he and Lily will have some prefect things to discuss and your housemate made an arse of himself just now and I refuse to suffer his presence this entire trip.” 

Hurt, anger, and confusion surface in James’ hazel eyes. Remus says nothing, his jaw only tightening as James gets up. He fixes his eyes at a spot in the corner, just over Frank’s head and doesn’t say much for what feels like forever. 

His first train ride _not_ sitting with his pack. He wishes he missed them more. 

* * *

Hermione disappears for a while at some point on the trip. She doesn’t say anything about it when she returns, only slips silently back in, sliding her hand into Remus’ as she settles into her seat. 

He stills and stiffens. He doesn’t mean to and he can scent her discomfort, and loathes the way she’s already loosening her hold and starting to pull away. 

“Sorry, I should have asked if it’s all right—” 

“It’s fine!” Remus swallows hard, forcing his finger to work. To close over her beautiful dark skin and hold her hand close to his leg. He’s lost to thinking how right that looks, how cherished and wanted he feels. How everything fades away to nothing of meaning as long as she’s holding his hand. He clears his throat. “More than fine.” 

He gives her fingers a squeeze and lifts his gaze back to Alice. “You were talking about the different effects beetroot can have on… what potion was it?” 

“Wine, Remus.” Alice shakes her head but doesn’t tease. “My aunt Margaret is determined to make it big with a new line of wine, and so there’s beetroots _everywhere_. All over my granny’s house all break. Her crowning moment was when Dad found several stored with his pipe tobacco.” 

“Pipe tobacco?” Hermione repeats, shifting on her seat, her knee brushing against Remus’. “Is that supposed to be a flavour?” 

Alice scoffs. “I’ve no idea, but none of us will be drinking that stuff come next Christmas, I can promise you that.” 

Their compartment dissolves in laughter, Hermione and Remus brushing knees again. She doesn’t say anything about her absence. Remus doesn’t ask. Neither do Lily and Alice, so Remus _definitely_ isn’t going to find out what’s happened.

Maybe it was the loo. 

Maybe she stopped to help someone on the way back. 

Maybe all that matters is she’s holding his hand and he’s holding hers. They’re holding hands and he keeps close until he and Lily have to leave for Prefect’s meeting. 

Or maybe she was waiting for just the right moment to corner him. 

Like right after the Welcome Back Feast, when he’s full and tired and ready for bed and wasting time in the Gryffindor Common Room. 

“I think you should go talk to them, Remus,” she says, voice low and gentle, doing that thing of slipping her hand in his, slotting her fingers between his. He doesn’t know when they became... _this_ . A wizard and witch who hold hands, but she’s _there_ and her scent is so alluring in the crackling, golden glow of the fireplace. Her eyes search his. “I stopped by to talk on the train, and… you lot should talk. I don’t think you should hide your feelings this term. It’s not healthy for you or them. You won’t be able to focus on school either.” 

“Figured you’d bring it back to school,” he snorts. 

“I’m serious.”

“Pretty sure _you_ are Hermione.” He bumps her shoulder with his upper arm—height difference and all that. “It’d be a little weird if I’ve suddenly started dreaming of snogging Sirius after all these years.” 

“I just mean… Look, we’ve written loads and I’ve told you things I haven’t even said to Alice or Lily yet. We’ve talked practical ideas for how to bring more attention to House Elves while respecting who they are. I’ve no idea how my plans for House Elf Appreciation Week at Hogwarts will go, but I won’t know until I make my wants and plans known. I have to try. Here and now. While we’re still in school and young minds can be molded and changed.” 

He looses a heavy sigh. “It’s… a little more complicated than that. With your friends.” 

“I know.” They continue to stand there, in front of the fireplace, quiet as students mingle, talk, and laugh around them. She says nothing about his snogging comment, and that’s strangely where he focuses. Or not strangely at all. Because he’s thought of different scenarios that lead to snogging over break. Dreamt of many variations of situations. 

And because he’s procrastinating. 

A squeeze to his arm draws him back to the present. Keeps him from sinking in disappointment and anxious fear. Hermione’s fingers have curled around his wrist. And she’s giving him a smile that’s warm and soft in the firelight. “Don’t think I haven’t considered situations in which there’d be a kiss involved with you. But not the time. Get up there. Talk to your friends.” 

“ _She’s right. Mate’s right_.” 

That lump lodges itself back into Remus’ throat, and it’s the excuse he needs to permit himself a few more minutes in her presence. 

* * *

He bursts through the door of their dorm room, gaze finding Sirius first. 

“ _Perfect.”_ Moony’s jaw curls into a dark smirk. “ _Start there_.” 

“Sirius Orion Black, you can’t just—”

“I know, I know.” Sirius lifts his hands, palms up. “Sorry, mate. Got carried away with the fun of it all, I guess.” 

Moony’s tail wags one. Twice. Swinging in light hope. 

But Remus isn’t so easily swayed. He’s firm as he closes the door behind him—closes, not slams. He’s in control of this confrontation. In. Control. “Not good enough this time. I know it’s ingrained in you to make it all a grand performance. Let everyone know you’ve entered the scene and hold their attention for as long as possible. I know it’s not all your fault and your parents should have given you more love and attention—”

“Wait a minute—”

“I won’t!” Remus balls his hands into tight fists and marches across the room, looking Sirius right in the eye. Composure is fading. “Your parents are awful and you deserved better. You and Regulus both. They’re glorified tutors on how to behave in society at best, and abusive monsters at worst. Year after year I’ve wished for nothing more than to invite you home for the holidays with me, but I never could on account of my own parents and furry little problem. But you take jokes and fun too far, and I deserve better treatment from you. From my friend.” 

“You’re right.” Sirius’ stance wilts and he licks his lips. “I pushed because I’m happy you seem to have someone, and figured you couldn’t Remus-logic yourself out of seeing more of her this year if I did something extreme.” 

Remus scoffs. Rolls his eyes. “You’re not wrong.” He can’t stay mad at this berk. Not for long. Sirius has always been the one things come easier with. “But I hadn’t made plans to end whatever things are becoming. You could have asked me about her over holiday, yeah?” 

“We shared a room for a week. You could have told me about her, too.” 

Fair. That’s fair. 

Remus takes a breath. Clears his mind. And turns to James. “In case you’re not aware, I like Hermione, James. Not Lily. I haven’t felt that way for Lily in years.”

His friend’s head bobs, unruly hair flopping a bit. “I know.” 

Doubtful. Remus moves closer to James, gaze narrowing. “Do you? Do you really?” 

“I’ve been a wanker, a twat, and a foul git.” James sticks his hand out, an unspoken inquiry in the space between them. “I’m sorry.” 

Remus looks at the hand. And back to James’ face. “Are you only sorry because Lily is now giving you the time of day?” 

“No.” James sighs. “I won’t lie—that helps, but that’s not it. I miss us. The pack. How we were last year.” 

“Well I do, too.” Remus is sighing, too. Tension leaves his body and he takes James’ hand, squeezing and shaking it. “I don’t know if we can go back to that, but we can move on. And maybe talk more, yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

For what could be the thousandth or millionth time today, Remus takes note of the silence. He doesn’t want to speak first, but he has more to say. “I meant what I said last year, James: I’ve moved on. I don’t know if anything I felt for her was real or just that she was the first witch to show me kindness while knowing about me.” 

“It was a crush.” James pushes his glasses up his nose with a single finger. “You had real feelings. Dignify them by admitting it. Lils deserves that much.”

“ _Clever, wise Prongs. Listen to him.”_

“Fine. Fine, fine.” Remus isn’t sure whom his answer is directed to, but it’s immaterial. “But I would _never_ —you always came first. I thought you’d know that. That you’d trust that. Trust me.”

Pain and regret twine across James’ face. “I should have.” 

“It hurt that you didn’t.” 

“I’m sorry for that, too. Remus.” James steps forward and wraps his arms around Remus. He claps his hand over his back. “You’ve no idea how sorry.” 

Remus doesn’t want to cry now, but he can’t seem to stop. He gives James’ back a hard _thump_ , swallowing hard. “I should have talked to you about it before now. I’m sorry, too.” 

* * *

Hermione is waiting on a particularly lumpy sofa the next morning. “Did you talk with them?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He closes the distance between them, holding her gaze the whole time. “Peter even apologised for nonexistent things when it was said and done. No need to worry about my focus this term. I’ll be tip top to keep you on your toes.” 

She huffs. Nudges his shoe with hers. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah, I do.” Remus moves closer, impossibly closer. He’s drawn to her. “Better than I have in a long time. Brave enough to carry that honesty through to this morning.” 

“Oh?” 

“ _Oh!”_

Her breathy response sets Moony off in a tailspin—literally. Moony doesn’t seem to know what to do with his excess of excitement and energy. 

Remus decides now is as good a time as any. “You may as well know I’m interested in more than friends with you, Hermione. 

“I—“

“Hear me out. Please.” He takes her hands in his. Both hands. Both of her hands are now cradled in both of his. Life has never been more beautiful or terrifying. “I know the concept of mates scares you, especially seeing how young people pair off at Beauxbatons. I wish I could say it’s different at Hogwarts, but probably not. It’s a small population school of Purebloods and loads of half bloods who are all keen to pair off by sixth year.” 

Smile lines crinkle around her fathomless brown eyes. “Ridiculous,” she scoffs.

“Yeah.” He sucks a sharp breath. “I don’t have answers on werewolf mates. I know what my wolf thinks and says, and he likes you. I like you, too. I don’t know how permanent that is, but I want you to know that when I’m in, I’m in. I’m not going to be looking for a way out before something even begins. _Ifffff_ you even want something to begin.”

“I do.” 

“ _She does_.” 

Two words. Two little words. They may mean to him more than anything he’s ever heard before. 

Hermione tilts her head. “What about the wolf? Is he all right with slow?” 

“Wellll…” Remus brings her hands to his lips. Kisses them each once, tenderly. “Moony has his own ideas and only time will tell how things play out. For now though, I’m being brave and taking one of those steps like you suggested. What d’you say?”

She doesn’t. 

Say, that is. 

She doesn’t answer with words. 

But he supposes her lips suddenly now smooshed against his is answer enough. She kisses him hard. There’s no means of softening or kissing back, and he thinks maybe they’ll need to work on that. Practice this art of kissing a great deal over the coming days. 

Weeks. Months. 

“ _Years,”_ Moony hums. 

Hermione pulls away, dropping down from her tiptoes. She licks her lips, making a face of sheepish inquiry. 

“What happened to slow?” Remus’ smirk is feral.

“This isn’t a pledge for engagement.” She drops his hand and makes to move around him. “It’s just a kiss.” 

“Not a kiss.” He snags her arm, bending and bringing his face to hers. “That was a smashing of lips in unspoken declaration. _This_ is a kiss.” 

He pillows her lips with his, taking the time to enjoy her lips under his. Moving against his. It’s not open-mouthed or deep or full of lust and hormones. It’s definitely nothing of romance novels. It melts him nonetheless. Melts him into a puddle while stoking a fire of longing and desire within him. Has him promising himself things, promising her things in the way he slides his lips over hers. 

Her mouth parts, and he’s torn between freezing and exploring—

But students are catcalling and cheering. 

Remus and Hermione draw back, blushing and nervously giggling. 

It’s a relief to see James, Sirius, and Peter waiting by the door, not laughing or participating in the teasing. It makes him eager to tangle his fingers in Hermione’s and lead her to walk with his friends to the Great Hall for breakfast. 

With his brothers. 

His pack. 


End file.
